Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting
by Genis Aurion
Summary: Slashfic, StanKyle. We loved our past, but it is now gone. Clinging onto each of these lifeless memories never ceases to remind me how much I want that past again. But how foolish had I been? Everything always changes with time. You most certainly did.
1. Initial Returning

My computer crashed... _Crystal Beyond the Horizon _will be up soon, but for now I'm putting this up, one of my major projects soon to be continued... please review... makes a kid happy after just having his computer crashed. Also, I'm not used to having the kids already graduated, and I need all the feedback I can get._  
_

* * *

_I've found something of mine, something that once belonged to me.  
I loved it with all my heart—but I left it behind in my past.  
Now, years later, I've returned to that past.  
But where is it? I can't find it…_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter One**

I feel like a stranger here.**  
**

It's been so long since I've been here. For more than five years I've been imagining how this place's changed—were the people the same?—the buildings, the cows, and everything else in between—were they all still there? I had been living on mere photographs from my mother, pictures of my adopted brother Ike blowing the candles on a birthday cake, with a living room behind him that struck me so vividly it was almost like I was actually in the room; pictures of my mom and dad ice skating together on the frozen Stark's Pond, though sometimes I wonder how many ambulances it would take to rescue the innocent skaters that would fall into the cracked pond if my mother fell; and the pictures of my adopted brother's Bar Mitzvah, which I had been unable to attend because of untimely midterm exams.

But now I have no such exams. I've finally finished college at Harvard, the university everyone predicted I would go to; and as anyone would've suspected I majored in law. I plan on starting my own law firm, which leaves plenty of time for me to relax; and since I haven't been to my hometown of South Park in so long I had decided I would do my practices there. It'd also be a good opportunity to visit my friends again, all the people I had left behind…

There is here, now; and as I stand at the edge of the two I open my mouth in both wonder and shock. Has South Park always been like this? It looks so similar yet so different… I can see Tom's Rhinoplasty from where I am, but half the stores alongside the street are so foreign. Even the toy store doesn't look the same—the sign looks all pink and yellow now, utterly disgusting for a video game store. I begin walking down the single main road of South Park, still awestruck at how the town's changed.

…South Park has a Pizza Hut, now?

"Are you lost?" someone behind me asks, and as I turn around I see a woman with a curious expression on her face. She looks awfully familiar, with her short, brown hair that almost seems curly; but I can't see to match her face with a name.

I shake my head in reply, trying to seem as polite as possible. She looks at me for several moments, perhaps also trying to place my face. It seems like she's having more luck than I had had, but she doesn't quite voice any of her speculations. Instead she smiles brightly, walking past me at a face pace while mumbling something under her breath. I take a deep breath before continuing my way, being sure to glance at this Pizza Hut building before I leave.

I'm headed toward my house—assuming my family still lives in the same house—and as I enter the residential area of South Park my mind is flooded with memories of these multicolored houses. I remember how football games occurred in the streets daily, how we had spent hours in some of these houses… there's just too many memories here… And then I come to a house that makes me stop in my tracks…

Is this _his_ house…?

But there's something odd about it… There're at least four cars in the driveway, and last time I checked he had only lived with one other person… I sigh as I continue on, not paying any attention to the house nor the strangers in front of it. Turns out he really had moved… Eric Cartman no longer lived there…

That's the strange thing with being gone for five years—everything looks the same, but in reality everything in the town has changed, and it's all unexpected. The houses don't change, yet the people living in them do… Now I'm just hoping my own family still lives in the same house, as I would eternally be fucked if they didn't…

Thankfully I can see my mom's familiar car in the driveway, and as I approach my house I hold my breath. My family doesn't know I'm coming yet—they're pretty much clueless of everything right now. I can already anticipate my mother's screams of excitement, which makes it a pity I don't have any earplugs. After taking a large breath of air I walk forward and approach the front door, key in hand. I unlock the door and let myself in, making sure to lock the door behind me; and as I listen to the empty sounds of the hours I sigh in disappointment. There goes my initial plan of surprising them… no one's home. Which surprises me, since the car is still there—but maybe Ike drives now and he's taken them somewhere.

I'm curious to see what they've done to my old room, and since I've got nothing better to do I decide to check for myself. Oddly enough, once I've climbed the stairs, I notice that they've done absolutely nothing with it—it's in the same condition I had left it in. I would've thought my mom would at least turn into a shrine or something, in honor of my acceptance to Harvard…

Suddenly a problem enters my mind: my moving truck with all my things, scheduled to arrive here tomorrow, has all my things in it—even my clothes—and thus I wouldn't have anything tonight. I frown, not taking the idea in too well. I suppose I could call Stan and ask him for clothes, but I only know his old phone number, the one he had back when I used to live here, and who knows if he's even in the town still… I decide on jacking a pair of clothes from Ike, as he's probably big enough to have my size of clothing, and so I head to his room to get some.

I'm quite surprised at what I see… has Ike turned Goth on me? His walls are plastered with screamo band posters, and almost everything in his room's some shade of black. I pull open his closet and find a similar result… Skulls and spiked bracelets—and even fishnets—all make up a portion of his closet, and I'm frankly surprised…

The phone rings, which saves my brother's room from further investigation, and out of instinct I run out of the room to answer the call. I recognize the caller ID on the home phone quickly, my heart racing at the sight of the name… "Stanley Marsh." A name I haven't heard in forever—so Stan still lives here. In my excitement I pick up the phone, but as I prepare my greeting I realize I've run into a major problem…

"Hello?" The voice says on the other side, but I remain quiet. What to say… how to say… I can't answer this person! I can easily tell now that it's indeed Stan on the other end, but I'm not capable of answering him! I feel awfully bad though, but the only thing I can do is wait for him to continue the conversation… "Hey, if this is Ike… my mom told me she saw Kyle earlier today, and I was just gonna ask if he's around…" There's a definite tone of awkwardness in his voice, and I stare at my feet as I listen to him. It's reasonable… talking about me in that manner… especially after what I did to him… "You know dude, I'm already at your house. I'll be at the door in like five seconds."

I hear the distinct sound of the line being cut off after that, and my heart immediately begins racing. Stan Marsh… I'm not prepared! I wonder if he hates me still… I haven't seen him since the day I left him, the day I left South Park… but I suppose if I had talked or seen him between that day and now he probably wouldn't have a reason for being nervous and angry with me… though it's not like I was even capable of talking to him anyway.

He rings the doorbell, and as I do my best to straighten myself up I answer the door. I want to smile at him as his eyes grow wide, but I don't know how to react… how does he view me? He's definitely grown though… in a _very_ good way, his blue eyes standing out more than ever. There's something about him that's changed, though—something that makes me even happier I've seen him again, though it might not be a reciprocal action…

"Kyle…" he mutters, only glancing at me once before turning away. I want to tell him I'm sorry for doing what I did, but I can't… I don't have the ability to talk to him, and even if I did I wouldn't know what to say… "So my mom really was right…" And then it hits me; that woman must've been his mother, the woman I saw near the pizza hut. No wonder she looked so familiar.

And suddenly I want to tell Stan everything—every single event of my life ever since I left home. The insane loads of homework, the random fraternity party I had been forced into attending, the person that freakishly looked and acted like Butters… there was so much I wanted to tell him. Yet… talking to Stan… there's the problem…

"You know, dude," Stan mutters, turning back toward me. "I do resent what you did to me those years ago. But… that doesn't mean we can't talk…" I hang my head, shaking my head. I really want to talk to you… I really do…! But it pains me that I can't respond, and it pains me more I can't tell him why… "Say something… please?"

I can feel myself crying now, and out of instinct I turn my head away. I can't let him see me like this… I had been the stronger one in the past, telling him not to cry… and yet here I am now, crying just as Stan did. If only I could tell him—if I could leave for several minutes I would have that ability, but as I don't want to leave my standing position there's no way of telling him. If he knew he wouldn't be acting like this—but he _doesn't_ know! He doesn't know why I can't bring myself to talk to him, why I'm incapable of telling him myself that I want to talk to him and that I don't care of our past and that I want him to forgive me and that I want to let go of my—our—past, and that I can't seem to do exactly that and that I'm unable to talk to him and that I'm curious as to where Cartman's gone, and that I still love him…

But I can't. Because I'm incapable of doing it—literally, incapable—and it brings me to tears thinking that I can't express my feelings to him because I can't—because I can't communicate with him. And I want to tell him so badly… but, I can't. It's just one among the many things that have changed in my life. In the past I could talk to him so easily, but now I can't… I would if I had the courage and the voice to, but I just can't.

That's the strange thing with being gone for five years—everything looks the same, but in reality everything in the town has changed, and it's all unexpected. Though I guess if there's something I could expect… it's me—that I look the same, but in reality, in the five years I've been gone, I've undergone a change more devastating than I would've ever thought.

I can't talk to Stan because, well… I've become mute.

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Chapter 2 soon... 


	2. Of Vocal Significance

**Author Notes at end.**

_When is wrong right? When is right wrong?  
When is it okay to do right for the cause of wrong,  
to do wrong for the ultimate cause of right?  
When is right to live for a dying cause,  
to die for a living cause?  
Am I right in justifying this wronged cause?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Two**

"_Kyle Broflovski!" A Jewish boy with near-crimson hair turned around, smiling broadly. "Come here, Bubee… Oh, my son's growing up _so_ fast!" The boy nodded, taking his mother in an embrace. The boy had just graduated less than three weeks ago, and already he was packing his things, preparing for his big move to the Harvard campus. He was to attend a summer program there, a lead-in to the already seemingly stressful academic life._

"_Yeah, mom… It's called time…"_

"_You'll call me frequently, yes? Oh, it's going to be _so_ hard to make sure my Bubee's safe…"_

"_I'll be fine, Ma," replied Kyle, fitting on a green hat—ushanka to be more technical—onto his head. "Wouldn't it be better if I just emailed you? I think my phone bill would go through the roof if I called you daily… though, it is your phone."_

"_One call a night sounds good," said Mrs. Broflovski. "I still want to hear your voice, dear."_

"_Why?" Kyle asked his mother. Mrs. Broflovski chuckled nervously, sifting a stubby finger through her curly, bunched-up red hair._

"_Is it a bad thing that I'd like to do that?" she asked, taken aback slightly. "Kyle, this may sound weird, but hearing someone's voice is a very pleasing thing for some people."_

"_Yeah, I know," he replied, keeping in mind the face of a very particular person… To not hear _his_ voice again… "Okay, I'll call you every Sunday, to keep you up with my life and stuff."_

"_Now that's my boy," said Mrs. Broflovski. "Now run along inside and say goodbye to your brother." The boy nodded, giving his mother one last hug before stepping inside his house. In his mind Kyle knew he would miss having his family around—even his occasionally bitchy mother—yet he couldn't help but think of the amount of freedom he'd have living alone…_

"_Kyle?" Kyle found himself at the foot of the staircase, and as he looked up he already found his brother staring at him with an empty stare. He tried smiling—Kyle could see it in the way he was pulling the corners of his mouth forcefully upward—but the attempt failed quite miserably. "Kyle… so I guess you're leaving now…?"_

"_Yeah… that time came…" Ike shuddered violently for a small moment, but after quickly recomposing himself he launched himself down the flight of stairs, springing himself into his adopter brother's arms. Kyle remained motionless for a moment, Ike burying his face into his chest; and as tears stained Kyle's orange jacket he patted the younger boy's back lightly. "It'll be okay, Ike… It's not like I'll be gone forever."_

"_But if feels like it!" exclaimed Ike, letting his brother lead him toward a couch. "It'll feel so empty not having someone down the hall! Who'll I turn to when I can't sleep? Who'll let me watch the old Terrance and Phillip reruns late at night on his TV?"_

"_You'll manage somehow… I'll be back often, as often as my wallet will let me… and my frequent flyer miles. Just take care of Ma for me, k?" The boy nodded slowly as he was seated softly on their couch. He still showed signs of crying, but at least the initial reaction was now gone._

"_Thanks… But when you get back we can have lots of time together, right…?" Kyle nodded, towering over his little brother as he heaved a sigh. He glanced at this watch, and the time displayed on his watch gave him approximately an hour before he was scheduled to leave for the airport._

"_I'm gonna go," said Kyle, straightening out his jacket while rubbing Ike's back once more. "I wanna run by Stan's before I leave."_

"_Okay… I'll see you… soon?" Kyle nodded once more, striding over to their door and placing his shoes back on. "And… I take it you don't want me to tell them about… you and Stan…?"_

"_I'll tell them one day," said Kyle. "I think they'd appreciate it if it came out of my mouth in my own words…" Ike nodded, standing up from the couch and walking toward his brother. "I'll see you later then…" And with that he closed the door, leaving a saddened Ike on the other side._

- - - - - - - - - -

"Oh," is all Stan can say once we've settled down. We're seated at the kitchen table, both remaining quite silent; and the only things on the table are a pencil and pen in between us. Our emotions have disappeared by this point—perhaps within fifteen minutes after our initial greeting—and now silence seems to be quite the familiar friend. "So you… can't talk…?"

I nod in his direction, looking away slightly. I still haven't told him why, but I doubt I'll ever get to it. It's just… I couldn't stand listening to him and not have him know why I wasn't responding… I wanted to tell my family first—especially my brother and my mother—but the situation wouldn't allow me. Now I'm finding myself having to explain my condition… and I know I'm gonna have to again once my family returns from wherever they went.

"What happened to you?" He asks curiously. I know he still cares for me—I can hear it in the tone of his voice—but I'll never be sure if it'll ever be the same again… leaving him did so much to him… And now, I'll never be able to show him how much I care for him, the same way he once told me in his voice… Without tone I have no expression, only a machine spitting out words on paper.

Nothing more.

I grab the piece of paper and cross out my previous message, scribbling furiously for my next message to him. He watches me as I fumble with the pen, trying to write as neatly yet as quickly as I can; and when I've finished I push it over for him to see. _I'll tell you after I tell my parents. But something's been bugging me… What happened to Cartman?_

"He moved to North Park," Stan replies, the news shocking me. "Mrs. Cartman got herself some high-ranking job up there, so the two moved out… Though really, I suspect she probably slept with the manager to get her job…" He chuckles slightly, the vague memory of Mrs. Cartman the whore returning to me. I smile at Stan, who looks at me with the same smile. It's like old times, yet… There's a hint in his eyes that's telling me something else…

I grab the piece of paper and pen, but as I prepare to scratch out my old message he grips my wrist and stops me. I look at him curiously, unsure why he's holding my wrist, but he smiles and releases me, chuckling slightly. "You don't have to erase your old message… I know what the last thing you wrote was."

I nod. _What happened to Kenny? Is he still around?_

"His family still lives there… I guess Kenny lives there too, but he's out working so much it doesn't really feel like he's still there. He works three jobs," Stan adds, and I nod, astonished.

_He really wants to live a different life than his family, huh?_

"Yeah. But it's not like he hates his family for it. I'm sure he had that moment where he took out his frustration on his parents—you might've been here still; I don't really remember when it was, anymore—but now he tries helping them out. He made this deal with his dad not to spend whatever money he gives them for alcohol… I think he gives them like 40 of his paycheck." I must admit I'm fairly impressed with Kenny. I do wish I can visit him one day, but at the moment I'm still shocked at the three jobs he handles. I wonder… where does he find time to sleep…?

_There's one more thing I want to ask…_ I write, looking up as I finish that small bit. My arm's shaking at this point, but Stan manages not to notice as he peers over what I've written. He glances at me with a quizzical look, but as I bite my lip and pull the paper back toward me I can tell he already knows what I'm going to ask. _Did you—_I cross that out—_Do you—_I halt my pen, hand shaking, before continuing­­­­—_still lo_—

I suppose at that moment some celestial being—your pick, or maybe all of them—decides to let my family enter the house, causing Stan and myself to jump in our seats. I turn my head in shame at the sight of my brother, who thankfully hasn't seen me yet—frankly, I don't think any of them have noticed me here. My mother greets Stan, curious as to how he got in; but it's only when Stan points in my direction does she actually bother looking around the almost-conveniently placed wall.

"Kyle?" she asks, though her eyes have already answered the question for her. "Oh Kyle! Bubee, it's been so long! Why haven't you called? I was beginning to get worried!" I'm pulled helplessly into her grasp, and as I peek over her shoulder I find my father and Ike watching me. I flash a smile over her shoulder, and though both grin at me Ike's smile seems half-meant.

"Aren't you going to answer your mother?" My dad asks, and I nod. I can feel Stan watching me as I step out of my mother's hug to snatch the paper on the table. I place it against the wall, writing out my message.

Fifteen seconds later, _I haven't had the ability to call. I'm sorry_.

"Kyle, I'm not mad that you haven't had time, but couldn't you at least tell me yourself?" There's a gleam in her eye, and immediately her words come flashing back in my mind. _Hearing someone's voice is a very pleasing thing for some people…_

I glance over at Stan, who's biting his lip at the sight of me struggling. How to tell my parents… Yet I think his mind's still with the question I meant to pose… I turn back to my mother, and with a very low gaze I point toward my throat.

"Are you sick?" she asks, and I shake my head. "Sore throat, you lost your voice…?" I shake my head at each guess, turning toward Stan yet again. I give him a very desperate look—like a "This-is-very-impossible!" kind of look—and he sighs, stepping forward.

"He physically can't," Stan says, trying to sound as apologetic as he can. Somehow it sounds like he's done this before… maybe he's a doctor now—I haven't asked him yet. "He's… dumb."

"Oh, _Gerald_!" my mother shrieks, bursting into tears. I reach out at my mother, but she darts up the stairs so fast I lose the opportunity. My father looks at me, unsure of what to say, and so instead he runs off after her.

"Kyle's not dumb," says Ike, shaking his head. "He graduated valedictorian…!" How ironic, I though Ike wasn't dumb… But maybe he's never heard or used that word before, in that context…

"He's not dumb…" Stan says, trying to reword it. "I guess he's more… mute."

"Like a mute television?" Ike asks, though by now I think he's figured it out. He turns to me with a scared yet bewildered look, and as I nod in confirmation he runs up to me, burying his face in my jacket. "Why… How…?" I'm not sure if he's asked these questions with the intent of me answering, but he squeezes onto me tighter and I'm not sure what else I can do. I want to cry but I've already wasted my tears, and as I turn to Stan he closes his eyes and turns away.

Maybe coming home hadn't been such a good idea after all.

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Thanks for the reviews last time! I really expect the same amount, if not more, this time around. What was Kyle asking Stan before he was interrupted? Maybe we'll find out next chapter, though you guys should seriously know that answer. And maybe more on Kenny and the past relationship between the two boys...

Thanks to **cjmarie**, **H.C.G**, **Flabz**, **Phoenix II**, **Ren85**, and **Lumina Lin** for the reviews! Until next time...

_- Zak -_


	3. A Boy's Resulting Hysteria

_Is it right to think of your needs when you do something?  
Me, I think so.  
I think that considering yourself in what you do  
is the best way to make sure you're doing the thing that seems best.  
But when you do something is it right to think of only yourself?  
Should you do something knowing it hurts someone else?  
What if you're most wanted desire is someone else's most unwanted fear?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Three**

_The Jewish boy was most certainly nervous as he knocked on a door that he knew well. He tapped his foot impatiently, though the doormat was already used to such nervous actions from the boy; and as he hummed a little song to himself a sudden thought flashed through his mind:_

_It might be the last time Kyle would knock upon that door._

_He waited some more, peering behind him to see if Stan's family was at home. Indeed, the familiar vehicles were still parked in front of the house, with Stan's car along the street as always. He knocked on the door once more, ringing the doorbell even, and still he got no response. He turned and leaned against the wall, heaving a sigh as he looked up toward the clouded sky. He knew Stan disliked the idea, but… could he at least answer the door…?_

_As if answering his question the door opened, though it wasn't quite who he had been expecting. Kyle's initial smile was just about ready to greet anyone, though as his face fell upon the person in front of him that smile vanished. "Hey Shelley…"_

"_What'd you want, turd?" Kyle sighed; that had been a name that Shelley liked to call her brother. Over the years Kyle found her using it for all of Stan's friends—especially Kyle, his boyfriend._

"_Can I see Stan?"_

"_He said to not let you in… but I'll pretend I didn't tell you that."_

"_Thanks…" Kyle nodded before entering slowly, relieving the welcome mat of his weight. He peered inside, looking around for Stan; but as he continued to scan his eyes he came up with no results. He's abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and as Kyle jumped Shelley merely grunted._

"_He's in his room," she snapped, heading off to the kitchen. Kyle muttered his thanks under his breath before making his way up the stairs to Stan's room. He knew this house well; he knew the welcome mat he always found himself tapping his foot on, he knew the creaky step he always stepped over on his way up the stairs—he even knew the bathroom door from being pressed against it so many times. Yet as he walked up those stairs he felt something different. In the one hour—less—that he had it was like he was stepping into new territory, unsure of what the natives—namely, Stan—would think of him once interaction took place._

_Kyle would find out soon enough._

"_Stan?" Kyle called through the door, but he got no immediate response. "Stan, you in there? I only got thirty minutes or so… I want to talk to you…" The hallway remained silent as Kyle tried knocking. It didn't help that he was pressed for time, that any minute now he'd have to give up and find some other way of telling him…_

"_The door's unlocked…" Kyle perked his head at the sound of Stan's voice, hope filling him once more. He opened the door as silently as he could, trying his best not to make noise; but he failed quite miserably in his attempt. He let himself in, closing the door behind him, and as he stared into the space before he caught sight of the backside of a black-haired boy—Stan. Kyle walked around the boy's bed, and as he hovered beside him he placed a hand on Stan's shoulder._

"_Stan…" He still got no response out of him, and even though he was right in front of him—okay, beside—Stan still refused to speak. "Stan, talk to me…? Look at me?"_

"_I thought I asked Shelley not to let you in?" Stan said slowly, pausing after each word for some effect. Kyle paused, remembering his sister's words before letting him in._

"_I don't think she mentioned anything about that." Kyle took a seat next to Stan, extending his arm around the boy shoulders. "You okay, dude? You don't look too good."_

"_Should I be?" Stan breathed, turning away. "I don't know why you want to move so far away…"_

"_You know this has been my dream," Kyle said, tapping his fingers against his knee. "You know I've wanted to go to Harvard for ages now… I would've at least thought you'd be happy for me that day I got my acceptance letter."_

"_I was happy."_

"_You didn't seem like it. You don't seem happy about it now." Stan shuddered for a moment, Kyle feeling it in his outstretched arm; but after several moments Stan shifted his position so that he was now facing in Kyle's general direction, though still in a downward gaze._

"_I'm happy that you're achieving your goal, I really am. It's just… I'm scared I won't ever see you again, that I won't be able to look into those admirable green eyes, that I won't be able to see that warming smile of yours… or maybe I won't be able to hear that sexy voice of yours again, calling my name in the halls." He chuckled slightly at the thought, looking up and into Kyle's eyes._

"_You know I'd never do that to you," Kyle muttered, bringing the boy's body closer to his own. "We'll make this relationship work somehow, I promise. Across the country…"_

"_I don't want this to end," said Stan, now determined to never break eye contact with Kyle. "We'll be so far apart… I'll miss being near you…"_

"_I'll visit," Kyle assured him. "I promise…" The two remained like that for some time, with Kyle's arm awkwardly twisted around Stan, with both boys looking at each other, though twisting their bodies in odd ways. How they got themselves in that position… Kyle didn't know._

"_So you promise I'll see that wonderful smile of yours?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_And those eyes of yours?"_

"_Yeah. Yours aren't that ba—"_

"_How about that voice of yours?" Stan interrupted, suddenly pushing the Jewish boy onto his bed. "Will I ever hear that voice moaning my name again?"_

_Kyle smirked, raising his body a little to feel the boy's warmth once more. "You know I will."_

"_Then let me hear it again… one more time…" Kyle laughed, and as the two boys shifted their positions so they were more properly on Stan's bed Stan's last request had indeed been fulfilled. Yet amongst the shifting, the grasping, the gasping, the moaning, the piles of clothes on the floor, the blankets atop them, the clutching of hair and skin, the thrusting between them and the dirty bed sheets afterward, Kyle would never have thought that one day he'd be unable to keep that promise…_

- - - - - - - - - -

You know, even with Ike's new change in apparel, I can still tell he's the same brother. Well, at least, based on the way he's crying in my arms the same way he did when I left, but at least it's something that's stayed the same around here. My brother's grown up a lot, though I kinda expected it; but other than that he's still the same.

Actually, most of my family's stayed the same, now I think of it—my mom's still the same, complaining somewhere about the misfortunes of her son, and my father trying to reason with her. I'm sure my mom makes the same mean Matzah ball soup, though at the moment I can't really find out. And amidst this, even though I should probably be worrying about how hard my mom will take the news, I can't help but wonder if she'll start some sort of society from this…

"Hey Ike?" Stan asks, and my adopted brother lets go of me. I'm not even sure how old he is anymore, though a quick subtraction problem in my head tells me he's at least nineteen. Whoa, _nineteen_? How long was I at Harvard? Yet now realizing he's nineteen, it's kinda hard to accept the fact he's crying in my arms… and how he didn't know what "dumb" meant, being the super-genius that he was.

"Yeah?" Then again, I suppose all grown up men have that one time where they can't help but break down… I suppose I'm sort of thrilled his moment involves me…

"Do you think… well, I guess I should ask Kyle first, but… do you think it'd be okay if I took Kyle out for a while?" He looks at me, and I look at him back with an amused look. Way to plan something out, without even asking the people involved. Still, I nod anyway, and I turn toward my brother, who's still slightly shaky.

I think he makes some sort of nod, silently retreating to his room. Stan turns to me, and as I walk toward him he smiles. I'm quite surprised when he opens the door for me, ushering me first through the door. I lock the door for him once he's stepped out, and as we walk away toward his car I almost expect him to take my arm into his, like old times.

Except, he doesn't.

"I've really missed you," Stan mutters, opening the door for me. "You said you'd call, but you never did. I guess now I know why though…" I can only nod, doing my best to show him I'm really apologetic for what I did. Once we're in the car we drive off, and though I really want to ask him where we're headed I choose not to, letting myself be surprised when the time comes.

There's a napkin in the space between us, and as a I grab one I take out a pen—I'm not sure when I managed to put it in my pocket—and begin writing a message to him. I try writing as big as I can so he doesn't strain himself from reading it while he's driving.

_I'm sorry that I didn't at least send you an email…_ I can hear Stan sigh, placing the napkin back onto my lap. His hand lingers there for a moment, though as a reckless driver swerves into our lane he has to remove it in order to maneuver the car properly.

"I thought you forgot about me," Stan mutters, eyes now focused on the road. "I didn't want to believe it, especially after you made those promises… but it really felt like it. And now I think about it, you never came back…" I want to tell him that my exams prevented me from coming back, but I figure it'd hurt him if he knew I had put academics before him. And now I think about, Ike must be pretty upset with me as well…

_You have to understand, I couldn't come back…_

"That's exactly what I was scared of!" Stan says, still refusing to look in my direction. "I didn't want you to leave me… You told me everything would be fine, but—oh shit, Kyle!—it's not okay!" I decide to not respond to him, looking outside my own window as he continues driving. It didn't take a genius to figure out I fucked up… I swear, it'd be so much easier if I could only speak… I scribble something on the napkin once more, but I don't show him what I've written—yet. I'm not sure what to tell Stan… I want to tell him I'm staying for good now, that things will be back to the way they once were, but putting it in words on paper… it seems so much harder to do…

Instead, as we leave the road and pull over at some strange restaurant I never knew existed, I scribble a different note and show that to him instead. _Where are we?_

"Kenny works here," Stan says, exiting the car. Despite our mini-argument he still shows signs of politeness to me, opening the door for me and leading me inside. "I figured you might want to visit him, as you really haven't seen him in a while." I find myself merely nodding at him, unsure of what to say. I know he's mad at me, but… is there a chance… could there be some possibility?

I decide to take a risk. I tap his shoulder nervously, and as I hand over the note to him he looks at me quizzically. "You already showed me that," he says, but I make a circular motion. He nods, flipping the napkin over and scanning the piece of paper. I almost run into him as he abruptly stops in his stride, and I immediately turn around to look at him. I can tell he's thinking about it, but is the answer the one I'm looking for…?

I would call out his name at this point, but since I'm incapable instead I find myself staring at the top of his head. His gaze is locked downward, hands stuffed in pockets, and I know he's struggling for an answer. It's like his mind was set on an answer so long ago, yet now as he stands there it's almost as if he's reconsidering his decision. I walk up to him slowly and cautiously, and as I place a hand on his shoulder he gently pulls away—not in an aggravated sort of way, but more of a shy, reserved manner. I already feel saddened at the action, and I don't even need his actual response anymore to realize my answer.

The napkin drops onto the cold, wet concrete, and right there and then my world feels about ready to fall apart.

Stan shakes his head slowly and walks away, leaving me alone in the cold pouring rain. Somehow in my mind I knew this was going to happen, yet I can't seem to register it properly in my mind. Had I kept a glint of hope? Had I been trying to see some sort of good out of this? I had been gone from South Park for at least six fucking years; there was no way Stan would've waited on me for that long. I don't think I've had so many urges to cry in one night since the night I left this town, and as I bend down to pick up the napkin I only manage to soak it some more with my own tears. The ink's blotched by now, but I can still faintly see my scribbles on it.

_Do you still love me?_

No. Stanley Marsh does _not_ love me anymore.

* * *

Thanks to **ren85**, **flabz**, **Alcorion**, **Phoenix II**, **cjmarie**, and **H.C.G** for reviewing! 

Chapter 4 soon...


	4. Anything But Static

**Important author notes at end. Sorry if I butchered Cartman speech.**_  
_

_I've found something, something precious that once belonged to me.  
A person, in fact. I've found someone precious to me.  
I loved him with all my heart—but I left him behind in my past.  
Now, years later, I've returned to that past.  
But where is he? I can't find him…  
The real him._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Four**

_Mr. Broflovski had volunteered to drive the moving truck all the way to Connecticut, so the task of driving Kyle to the airport had been left with Mrs. Cartman._

_It was horrible timing on the Broflovski family. Mrs. Broflovski had recently injured herself—her back, more specifically—and wasn't capable of driving on the interstate. Stan's car was highly unreliable to take Kyle—and Kenny didn't even own a car. Thus he had reluctantly relied on Eric Cartman, the last of their old foursome group. He disliked the boy greatly, yet as his future in Harvard left called out to him the Jewish boy was really left without much choice._

_The shower he had previously taken was clearly rendered useless after his visit with Stan, hot and sweaty as ever; and he only earned a few snickers from the pudgy boy as his mother's car rolled up at Stan's house. How Eric knew he was at the boy's house and not as his own, Kyle didn't want to find out. There had been a whole fiasco of Eric being a psychic, and even though Kyle knew he clearly was not it still scared him how much that boy knew._

"_What's goin' on, fags?" said Eric from the passenger seat. As Kyle climbed into the car, placing several bags beside him, he felt the sudden urge to correct his sentence; but he instead allowed the grammatical side of his to subside and cool down._

"_Thanks for taking me," Kyle said politely to Eric's mother, and Mrs. Cartman waved her hand carelessly._

"_What's there to thank, dear?" she said. "I'm only doing your father a favor." Kyle turned away at that; he didn't really want to know what favor she referred to. But then… what an unpleasant and disturbing thought… His mother would definitely be unpleased when she found out about this…_

"_Can't believe you're goin'," Eric muttered, looking out his window. With the sound of the engine the car took off, driving from a slow pace to a much more accelerated one. "No one to make fun of… Hey, Jewboy! You're comin' back, right?"_

"_Of course," replied Kyle. "Even if I think you're the fattest fuck in the world I'll definitely come back." Kyle's surprised at Kyle's mother's laidback nature, not even caring that he's said curse words… But maybe it's just her way of saying goodbye, by letting the words slip._

"_That's the Kahl I know," Eric said, chuckling slightly. The car picked up to an even faster speed as they entered the high way. Perhaps one of the disadvantages of living in a quiet mountain town was living miles away from the nearest airport. "Don't worry I'll take care of Stan for you." _

_Kyle immediately hushed the boy, forcing Eric to keep to himself anything the pudgy boy would've said otherwise. Very few people knew about his secret relationship with Stan; they found joy in hiding it, and even now as they were being torn away from each other they didn't want many people knowing. "Cartman, what the hell, dude?"_

"_Sorry, sorry," Eric said apologetically. There was a silence between them coming shortly after and as they began passing signs on the side of the road (AIRPORT: 20 mi, left exit) they knew they were close arriving. "Hey, I forgot to tell you, Kahl. Kenny wanted to wish you goodbye before you left."_

"_Oh?" Kyle asked curiously. "I forgot about him… where was he?"_

"_Poor boy had to work. I warned him! '_Stop being so goddamn poor, Kenny!'_ but I don't think he even bothered listening to me. And look at that, Kenny! You can't even say goodbye to Kahl now!" The grammatical side of Kyle burst forward in Kyle's mind once more, but somehow Kyle pushed down the urge of noting Eric's apostrophe._

"_He's working twelve-hour shifts," Kyle said with a sigh. "I feel kinda bad for him."_

"_Eh, whatever," said Eric. Then, as he glanced over his shoulder quickly—the first time that whole car ride—he added, "Don't you wanna fix that hair of yours?" Kyle nodded, and for the remainder of the trip he combed his hair to the best of his ability. Of course, Kyle had the typical Jew-fro, which didn't comb down quite as easily, and problems quickly arose—though all being solved well before they arrived._

_Mother and son waited from afar as Kyle checked in a single bag, and before long they found themselves ready to split ways. Ahead was the security checkpoint, an area restricted to the two Cartman's—unless they were going on the flight themselves. There wasn't much Kyle could really tell any of them—especially Mrs. Cartman—and any minute now he'd walk away from the last two people he knew and enter a world of strangers._

"_Come visit South Park some time," said Mrs. Cartman, giving the boy a slight hug. "Be good while you're there…"_

"_Yes, _mom_," said Kyle, laughing a bit—of course, not really meaning what he said. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."_

"_All right dear. Eric, dear, let's get going." The corpulent boy rolled his eyes at the sound of his proper name and turned to Kyle._

"_You'd better come back, Jewboy. If I don't hear that damn voice of yours by the time I'm eighty-five I'm gonna put all the Jews in camps and examine every one of them until I've found you, you hear me?"_

"_Thanks… but no thanks…"_

"_Now remember, Kahl," he said, changing the sentence abruptly while keeping a straight face. "Wherever you go, whatever you do, whatever you find in that place… Remember to stay with Christ… dawg."_

_Kyle laughed, turning away. "I can't believe you're still talking like that, dude… Our hall monitor days were so long ago…" Eric nodded, turning away as well._

"_Well, Kahl, I guess this is… goodbye?"_

"_Yeah, looks like it." Kyle shot a glance at the boy, who's trying his best to not look at the Jewish boy. As if it couldn't be helped though… "Hey, Cartman?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Thanks, man. Thanks for being there. Even when I hated you so much I wanted to kill you."_

"_Aye, what else am I there for?" Yet as the two remained silent Eric stepped backward, waving his hands in a cautious manner. "Oh, no, no, no! No you don't! Don't go all sappy on me, Kahl!"_

"_But I mean it, dude. You've made me this ignorant and obnoxious Jew, and without you I'd be a lot different." But the boy laughed as Cartman held his hands over his ears, refusing to hear more._

"_Screw you Kahl, I'm goin' home now…"_

"_Aw, wait!" Eric Cartman turned once more as Kyle placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Take care of Stan for me? Please?"_

"_Fine, whatever dude. Fuckin' fags…" Kyle smiled, turning away toward the security checkpoint. It wouldn't be long now until… "Hey Kahl! I think I should tell you this, but…"_

"_But what?" Kyle asked, turning around to find Eric still standing there, with a smirk plastered upon his face._

"_You've got a hickey goin' on right about… there." Kyle frowned, massaging the left side of his neck, but only growled one last time at the boy as Eric's smile grew wider. "Other side…"_

- - - - - - - - - -

I really wonder if the day will come when I'll stop finding things that have changed.

For one, this restaurant. I don't ever remember it being here one bit—then again, I don't even remember this road being here. It's labeled "South Park's Finest" but I'm not even sure if it's been long enough to know what exactly the town's finest foods are. Hell, I don't even know that and I was born here.

The second thing that's changed is Kenny. As soon as I walk inside—maybe minutes later after Stan—I find Stan talking to a decent looking bartender. It takes me a minute to look at how beautiful this guy looks—I might as well now that I know Stan isn't exactly interested in me—but it takes me _another_ minute before I realize it's Kenny. But even though a bartender's the perfect occupation for him (in my mind), as I look at him now I'm still quite amazed. I guess I was so used to seeing him in an orange parka—something he still wore even on the day I left—that when I saw him without it he looked so much different.

"Broflovski!" he exclaims, striding over to me and giving me a hug, wine bottle still in hand. He doesn't smell the same—on the contrary, he smells quite good compared to his stinky scent before—and as he pats me on the back I can't help but close my eyes. Am I… am I sure this is the same Kenny McKormick?

And of course I can't say anything in reply as he continues to embrace me. He feels quite warm, almost as if he's pressing himself on me, but I don't quite mind. Instead I'm look at the bar once more, where there's a brunette tending to the bar in Kenny's absence. She seems familiar, yet…

"Kyle, man, I haven't seen you in forever!" I decide that smiling is the only thing I can do for now—or at least until I've told him about my incapability of answering him. Or _maybe_, I could simply grab a pen and paper and avoid the whole thing altogether… I have the pen, but I don't believe I've got working paper to write on.

"Kyle?" says a feminine voice, and as I turn around the brunette walks to our little huddle. So I'm right; she does know me from somewhere. Yet… where?

And then the third thing comes to me, the third thing that's changed: Bebe's hair color. But Bebe isn't Bebe without her blonde hair! At least in my mind… But her hair is still curly, just brown—and everything else about her seems the same. I had half-expected it to be Wendy at least, as brown isn't as big of a change from black… but Bebe?

"Kyle, oh it's been so long!" I sigh nervously as I'm pulled yet into another hug. I can see Kenny over her should as he asks Stan something, and the raven-haired boy whispers something back at him. "Kyle? Don't you recognize me? It's Bebe!"

"He can't respond to you," Stan says, sighing, and as he looks at me I turn away. Sure, I've told four people in one night, but I guess suddenly the whole world should know…?

"Why?" Bebe asks, and she looks at me.

"He's just got a sore throat," says Kenny, stepping forward. Hooray for Kenny…! "Hey Bebe, can you tend the bar for a while? I wanna have a talk with these two…" The girl nods, quite energetically I might add, and as she takes the bottle out of Kenny's hand he drags us out of the bar area of the restaurant and seats us at some table. "Stan says you can't talk anymore?"

I nod, grabbing a napkin from our table, scribbling something down. _Not what you expected then, I guess?_

"Not at all," he replies. "Hey Stan, how'd you know he was here?"

"Mom," Stan replies simply. "She came over to my house and randomly told me. I went over to Kyle's to make sure, and… he was there." As Kenny nods Stan turns over to me, smiling. "I kinda forgot to tell you, but it wasn't quite important. I don't really live with my parents anymore."

_Can I visit one day?_

Stan nods. "It's not like you haven't been there before. Shelley moved to North Dakota or something, and my parents moved closer to dad's station. They let me keep the house though, so I've pretty much got the whole house to myself."

"Perfect party house," Kenny pipes up. "I swear, Kyle… You shoulda been there!" I sigh, turning away as I look at the empty street outside. So much I've missed… "So, I've been meaning to ask… Are you guys still going out?" I'm almost positive I could've heard a pin drop at that very moment, and as Stan and I look at each other we turn away immediately. In my mind I'm still hoping yes—damn, I spent a good two minutes getting rid of these emotions only moments before—yet I find myself shaking my head slowly. Though when I look toward Stan I don't find him agreeing with me…

He's… crying? No, it's just the reflection of the light on his eyes… right? But he looks so sad, and really all I want to do is wrap an arm around him and comfort him… But he'll only back away again, I'm sure.

"I'm gonna take a walk," Stan mutters, rising up quickly and leaving the table. Kenny reaches out an arm to stop him, but he doesn't bother trying once he's speedily walked out the door. I stare at the still swinging door as the blonde looks at me, wearing quite the confused look.

"Something happen between you guys?" he asks, and I manage to write my reply quite quickly.

_Yeah, about six years happened_. He reads the note and sighs, turning away. He probably hasn't communicated with Stan too frequently over the years, as he seems quite out of the loop when it comes to talking to Stan. Still, he rests his hand on his chin, trying to think of something to say to me as a reply.

"I'll try finding out what's happened to Stan, I promise."

_But I want him to be happy, too… Even if getting him back is in my best interest, if Stan doesn't want that…_

"Do you still love him?" he asks me, and I find my pen stumbling. Do I still love him? Even after the six years of wanting to communicate with him, after what had happened only moments before we entered this restaurant, and after knowing that he doesn't love me the way he used to?

_I guess… I guess I still do_.

"Then there you go. I'll go catch up with Stan, then." And as I watch him job out of the restaurant—still clad in that fine white uniform of his—I can't help but feel appreciative for Kenny's efforts. Yet what he's told me is definitely beginning to sink into my head… Clearly there's something bugging Stan about me—it's not like he outright hates me—and now I just don't know how to react. But I suppose it's not long now before I'll have to make a decision. Should I try getting Stan back, or should I accept this as the fourth thing that's changed?—being alone and without Stan.

* * *

Author's notes: Well, well, what fast updates I've made. I'm posting this early to give you readers a head start. First off, I'm madly behind schedule on **Faith**, as most of you know, and I really need to get to work. Then I've got **Crystal Beyond the Horizon** to kick off too, and I've got half a chapter of both **Hope **and **Sacrifice**. Not to mention I need to get to work on those. 

_So_ your job. Whilst I'm gone to update each of these stories, which will take at least a week or two, I wanna see more reviews. Ten at minimum, actually. Kinda a lot yes, and I don't normally do this. But I wanna see how many people are truly interested in this.

At any rate, I hope you've enjoyed this so far.

-Zak

* * *

Thanks to **tweekismycousin**, **Ren85**, **H.C.G**, **Sakura Ryokan**, **Phoenix II**, **flabz**, and **cjmarie** for the reviews. 


	5. Without Trust We Refuse to Believe

**I didn't get 10 reviews like I asked, but I'm updating anyway because I got 8. I'm expecting 10 this time, though. And sorry yes, the flashback does jump back in time. It'll do that a lot; chronological order's kinda beaten by logical order, here.  
**

* * *

_All things seek their roots. What past do we hold?  
Where hast it come from? Where hast this youth gone?  
Even one with the power of the gods looks for its roots.  
What obstacles must we—must I—defeat  
in order to return to whence this youth came?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Five**

It's actually quite boring once Kenny's left. I guess it's kinda odd that there's no one at this restaurant, especially at this time at night; and even though I have the time to ask and find out I decide not to. Instead I try thinking of what Kenny has in mind—Wait, what _exactly_ had he been planning on doing? I mean, I hope he didn't plan on simply asking him straight-out… I guess the only thing I can do now, though, is to just trust him and wait for the final outcome.

"All alone, Kyle?" a voice asks, and I look up from my downward gaze to find Bebe's face. "Here, do you want something to drink? I could get you a glass of water or something." I nod at the suggestion, and she quickly scuttles away. I suppose since there aren't any customers it doesn't really matter if she's waiting tables or tending the bar…

She returns with a tall glass of water—it even has a lemon attached on the side—and as she places it in front of me I nod a thank you. She takes a seat in front of me, where Kenny had previously sat; and as I take a sip from the cup I nod yet again. I suppose I nod too much…

"Is your sore throat that bad?" she asks, quite ignorant of the truth. It isn't her fault—I have to remember to thank Kenny for that—yet as I think about it maybe keeping this "sore throat" idea isn't such a bad thing. "I've got cough drops if you want them…"

I shake my head politely in reply. I think I've had so many cough drops my throat would burn at the next one I tried sucking on. It still shocks me how Bebe's dyed her hair brown… It's just such a hard concept to grasp, even if the ocular proof is right in front of me.

"How long have you been here?" she asks curiously. "I think I have everyone's phone numbers stashed somewhere… phone numbers of the people we went to high school with. I'm sure we could hold a giant reunion in your honor."

I grab the pen that's still lying on the table and take a new sheet of napkin, writing a message on it for Bebe to see. _I wouldn't mind seeing all of them again. Though I am moving here, so there really isn't any rush._

I watch her eyes scan the note quickly as they flash in excitement. "Really? That's so great! When I get home I'll plan on that reunion then… Is there anyone you don't want to invite?" I frown for a moment, turning my head away to think. There really isn't any person in particular I can think of at the moment…

But then suddenly an image of Stan comes to mind, and for a second I'm quite shocked at myself. However, a few violent shakes of my head get rid of the idea, and even as I give her a physical "no" as her answer I bite in lip in distaste. Why did I even _consider_ Stan?

A slight ringing of a bell causes Bebe to stand up, and as I take another sip of my water she leaves. She had almost succeeded in distracting me from whatever Kenny's doing with Stan… but the random thought of Stan brought my mind back… I know I should at least be trying to think of something or someone other than him, but—I just can't help but think of the promises I broke with him.

At the sound of excited chatter my head snaps back to the present and as I drink some of my water Bebe returns, though this time with another person beside her. She has long, flowing hair, long past her shoulders, and she's dressed in a really light tone of purple—lavender, I suppose. I find it a lot easier to recognize this woman, and I immediately arise to greet her.

"Kyle!" The girl exclaims, wrapping herself around me quite tightly.

"You remember Wendy, right?" Bebe asks, looking at me. It's not like I'm stupid though… though I don't tell her that as I merely nod to her question.

"Kyle, it's been so long!" says Wendy, dropping her purse on my table to grip my sides firmly. It's a bit unnerving, but I suppose Wendy has always been the more ecstatic of the girls at my school. "I know we didn't talk much in high school, but we were good friends in elementary school, remember? Well, you knew me through Stan, which technically means we knew each other, right? But I haven't talked to you in forever! Where'd you go to? I'm sure you probably went to Harvard or Yale, as you were quite the bright kid, but no one really told me where you fled off to so quickly. I mean, I think Stan briefly mentioned in, though I don't remember him being so happy about it. But yeah, so tell me about yourself!"

…Has Wendy always talked that much?—or is my memory really that bad?

"He has a sore throat," explains Bebe, and silently I thank Kenny yet again. "I haven't heard him talk at all yet, but that's what Kenny told me when Kyle and Stan got here."

"Kenny?" Bebe asks, and I nod. "I haven't heard from him in a while either, though I did see him on my way here. I think he was walking with Stan." I bite my lip at the sound of his name—can't I ever stop thinking about him? Can't I just let Kenny do his thing and not have to worry about this so much? "

"Well, Kenny works here," says Bebe. "Kyle and Stan just came to visit for some reason—maybe just to visit the boy. But I'm surprised Stan knows Kenny's shift… I hear he works in two other places as well."

"That's a lot of working," says Wendy. She pauses for a moment, and then as she turns to me her face brightens. "Oh, that reminds me. When Bebe told me you came back to South Park I remembered something, though I kinda forgot about it. Talking just now made me remember, so… Well, I was gonna ask you if you ran across Stan yet, though Bebe just said you came with him so I don't really have to ask that anymore. But have you talked to him yet? He seemed really sad when you left, and I figured that it had been because of you.—Oh, but wait, Bebe—well, Kenny, I guess—said that you can't talk… I guess it'd be really hard to talk to him then… But in all seriousness you should sit down and communicate with him somehow. I think he'd appreciate it." As she finishes I merely stare at her; even if I had been able to speak, I wouldn't be sure where to start.

"It's a good thing you have a friend like him," Bebe says to me, not realizing how she's making my situation even worse. We're probably still friends, yes, but definitely no more than that…

The door opens again, and as Bebe's about to serve the newcomers she stops—it's only Kenny. His facial expression doesn't seem too happy, and as he looks to me he bites his lip.

"Come on Kyle… I'm taking you home."

- - - - - - - - - -

"…_And you think _I_ can help?" a shocked Kenny asked as Kyle nodded._

"_You're really good with this kind of stuff, dude!" Kenny sighed as the Jewish boy continued to plead. They were at a local Shakey's Pizza, and Kyle has asked Kenny to meet him there for help. "Come on, Kenny… you know you want to help…"_

"_Okay, so tell me all of this again," muttered Kenny as he took a bite out of his pizza slice. "You like Stan, but he has absolutely no clue you like him?"_

"_Yeah, like that," Kyle replied. "And I guess I don't know how to tell him that I like him."_

"_And how would I be any good in helping?" Kenny asked. "I'm not gay… I've never liked a guy before."_

"_Well, you've liked girls before, and you said you've asked girls on dates in the past."_

"_Oh!" exclaimed Kenny, pointing his finger into the nothing in the air. "You actually want to ask Stan on a date? I thought you just wanted tot tell him you liked him!"_

"_Both, I guess," said Kyle while slurping on his milkshake. "But I have no idea what to do… can you help me?"_

"_Well, normally I'd say I would…" Kenny sighed, tapping his fingers on the table. "But I'm really not sure how it's like asking a guy."_

"_It shouldn't be that much different!" Kyle exclaimed. "The only difference is gender…! Besides, don't you know Stan well enough to have some sort of an idea?"_

"_I guess I do. What do you want me to do?"_

"_I dunno, I thought you'd tell me that." Kyle bit his lip as he looked out the window. His crush on Stan had been bothering him for such a long time now… While he wanted to make sure his friendship with Stan remained the way it was, at the same time he _really_ wanted Stan to know about his feelings…_

"_Here's what I'll do," said Kenny, straightening his posture. "I'll help you talk to Stan—I'll give you an excuse to squeeze a moment to tell him, okay?"_

"_But what will I say?" Kyle asked._

"_Just be yourself," said Kenny, smiling at the Jewish boy. "Be yourself. Everything else should come naturally."_

- - - - - - - - - -

It's already nighttime by the time I find myself opening the door to my house once more. I'm not sure why I had thought that Kenny didn't have a car even though he did, but I'm quite thankfully he had one or else I wouldn't have had a ride home. Stan, apparently, had left immediately after talking to Kenny—perhaps he had accidentally said something that upset Stan—which only made me more thankful that Kenny could bring me home before going to his second job.

I barely register my parents as I enter the house. I know they're calling me, and it's not like I can answer. Yet what exactly they're saying—I don't know. What Kenny's told me is still resounding in my head, and I feel light-headed from all the commotion that's happened in one day. The funny thing is, when I had decided to move here I thought that it'd be a good idea, and that catching up with everyone I left would be enlightening for me. Instead, however, I'm finding myself more stressed and saddened than when I had been thousands of miles away at Harvard.

I collapse onto my old bed in exhaustion, though I choose to ignore the fact that it's awfully small for me now; and as I snatch a pillow from the head of the bed I sit against the side of my bed and shut my eyes tightly. Denial is something I wish I could resort to, but living in denial is pointless if you know on the inside that the truth is really truth. I'm slowly starting to see that moving away to Harvard—hell, even moving back—hadn't been such a good idea after all. Pursuing your academic dreams had been an important thing to me, yes—but now I see the sacrifices I had made hadn't been worth it.

I can feel myself beginning to cry—even if I'm in my mid twenties I feel the need to commit this infantile urge—and Kenny's words still can't get off my mind. I've made too many promises, Stan's told Kenny who's told me, and I've broken one too many. I broke my promise with Cartman, and now he'll never hear my voice calling him a "fucking fatass;" I broke my promise of visiting Ike frequently; I broke my promise of calling my mother once a week; and I broke my promise—promises—with Stan. But there is one more thing Kenny told me about Stan, one thing that makes me sad the most…

"Kyle?" Ike's at my door, and I suppose I subconsciously notice he's kept his habit of knocking even if the door's open. He walks into my room with a cup of hot chocolate, and as I raise my tear-stained head to look at the cup I wonder where he's gotten the idea that I needed this…

I nod in my appreciation and turn away, taking a sip out of it; and after I've taken enough of the liquid I set it down above me on the nightstand. It's quite warm, yet in a way it's also very refreshing—indeed, exactly what I needed. Yet it still doesn't distract me from Stan…

"You're crying," Ike states, and I nod. Way to point out the obvious… but I decide not to tell him that thought as I see him and his black attire step in front of me. "Is it about Stan?"

Oh, what would I do without my trusty pen…? My family had better study sign language one day… _Yeah, how'd you know?_

"I can tell. You're my brother." He continues to stand in front of me as I look down at his feet. Steel-clad boots… indoors? "I kept your promise, by the way… mom and dad still don't know about what you and Stan were doing all throughout high school."

_Doesn't matter anymore. We're not together now._

"I know," muttered Ike, turning away to look outside the window. My brother knows too much… But then, he is the super-genius… "Stan used to talk to me a lot… I guess he found it relieving to talk to me if he couldn't contact you." I bite my lip and nod… what else can I do? "He told me how frustrated he was for not having talked to you in a month, how you said you'd talk to him frequently… He even told me how he was scared you were cheating on him or something."

_I'd never do that_.

"I told him that, but he still had doubts. But I'm sure you know all about him doubting." Oh in fact I do, Ike, thanks. Stan doubted a lot… too much… and if there's one thing I remembered from dating him it was that he asked me about everything at least twice. Somehow he needed to be reassured… which is probably why I frustrated him so much while I was gone. "Well, I'll leave you alone now… good night."

My hand waves a goodnight, but my mind's barely paying attention. His doubt goes way beyond that I'm sure, and he hasn't changed in that regard either. He doubted the day I asked him out, he doubted the day I told him I was leaving (though now I think he had the right to), and now… he doubted my ability to keep my promises… and his own ability to start a relationship with someone he couldn't communicate with.

Perhaps that had been the thing that hit me most—not the fact he doubted me, but that he doubted himself. To not start another relationship with me because I couldn't talk to him…? His other reasons were more legit, I thought, about not having trust in me… But so, if I _did_ have the ability to talk to him, would he then have been more likely to accept me once again?

Long past the hours of my old curfew I remain awake. The world's asleep, the streets quiet… I am neither. I am not asleep—my eyes are wide open and flowing tears for the umpteenth time that day (technically, though, it's a new day). I am not quiet—my whimpering moans and my hiccups resulting from tears. I cry myself to sleep that night, and never in my life have I hated the taste of salty tears so much.

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**I hope I didn't fuck this up like I did with CBtH Chapter 14...****

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Chapter 6 after 10 reviews. Thanks to _cjmarie_, _Sakura Ryokan_, _Ren85_, _tweekismycousin_, _H.C.G_, _Greyhound Master_, _Phoenix II_, and _Flabz_ for reviewing.**


	6. Simplistic Admiration

**I got 10 reviews! (happy dance). I have a massive headache, and so instead of typing chapter 7 and getting ahead I'm posting this and taking a long nap.**

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_What we say in words can produce disastrous effects.  
We can ruin someone's life with a single sentence.  
Pictures are worth a thousand words,  
actions a thousand pictures.  
Our actions can be so much more devastating._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Six**

_One of the things the four boys enjoyed most was skating on the frozen Stark's Pond._

_Well, they enjoyed tobogganing down snowy slopes the most, but since ice skating was so much easier to do they normally found themselves doing that instead. They would skate for hours—sometimes even the whole day—and though originally they walked to the pond quite happy and energetic, by the time they were done they had almost no energy to even return home—especially Eric._

"_Let's _try_ leaving when we're not absolutely exhausted," suggested Stan, and the group nodded._

"_We wouldn't want fatass collapsing on the ice in exhaustion anyway—there wouldn't be any ice left to skate on."_

"_Hey! Shut up, Jewboy." Kenny laughed as he sat onto the snowy ground to place his skates. Kyle took a glance at the blonde-haired boy and Kenny smiled in Kyle's direction as he looked back. Supposedly, Kyle reminded himself, today would be the day Kenny would help him…_

"_Tell me you guys are ready now," said Kenny as he finished putting on his skates. Kyle looked down at his own feet, having already dressed them with his skates; but as he turned to Stan and Eric he sighed—perhaps he and Kenny were just too fast… "Here, Kyle, let's just start without them. They can catch up."_

"_But wouldn't—?" but after catching the glint in Kenny's eye Kyle nodded, taking off into the ice after Kenny. The pond itself was fairly big—enough for the two boys to skate a far distance and still be out of earshot from their friends._

"_I figured I'd tell you what I'm gonna do," said Kenny._

"_Of course," replied Kyle. He watched Kenny nod at him, but it was only after several seconds did he realize… "Uh, Kenny? Plan on talking?"_

"_Oh yeah, uh… I dunno. I really didn't plan on anything. Just be ready when I randomly toss the situation into your hands, I guess."_

"_Gee, thanks. I wonder why I even thought you had a plan to begin with." Kenny laughed as he turned on his heel, and before Kyle could talk to him about anything else he was gone. He decided to skate for a bit as well… It wouldn't be long now before he'd be telling Stan what would probably ruin their friendship forever._

- - - - - - - - - -

"Bubee…" It's a name I haven't heard in so long, yet even on the fence dividing reality from dreams I can tell it's a name I should response to. "Wake up, Kyle." I open my eyes to find myself being blinded by the sun… I _do_ have blinds for my windows, right?

I get up slowly from my bed and find my mother standing by my bed. She's already fully dressed—almost as if she's going to the synagogue—and her hair is tied up in a tight bun behind (maybe over) her head. She's looking at me in an odd way, and as I stand up to my full height I rub my eyes to try and see her better.

"Kyle, there's a moving truck outside our house, claiming it's your stuff." I frown for a second; I already knew it was coming, yes, but why was my mother surprised? Surely she would expect my things to come after me?—then again I_ had_ been trying to surprise them…

"Sheila, they need his signature!" I hear my father yell from somewhere below us. My mother looks at me expectantly, as if not needing an explanation for what she wanted me to do (she really didn't, of course); and she follows me down the stairs as I find my way to the front door. I guess it's really been a long time since I've been in this house—despite all the drama yesterday—and as I approach the bottom of the staircase I step on a loud, creaky step… the step that I always made sure I skipped, now as I think about it.

"Kyle Broflovski?" I hear some random man outside the front door ask me once I've reached him, and after nodding I take a pen and sign my name. I frown as he returns back to the front seat of the truck—there's only one of him. Or maybe it's just me who thinks that hiring movers should offer services in unloading and loading their truck.

"I'll help," my father pipes up, walking away from the door toward the truck. Thankfully enough I didn't own very many things while living away from home, so there isn't much to take out—yet there's still enough to make the job quite tedious. The heaviest thing we lift is a couch, but since I own so many small things I still make too many trips…

And then, we're done—or at least, done getting everything out of the truck. My dad convinces the truck driver that we're fine and that he can leave, which leaves us with all my possessions on my driveway. My mother's still glaring at the unattractive sight on the cement, and as I turn to her she's shaking her head.

"I think you should've told us you planned on moving in," she says at last, still shaking her head in what I think is disappointment. "Though we can't do anything about it now… can't cry over spilt milk, can we?" I shake my head, turning to my things. Bringing them inside… wouldn't this be fun…

"Ike's not home right now," my dad informs me, already starting to lift some boxes. For the next hour or so we slowly move the boxes to my room, and all the while my mother decides that writing on the boxes—where each one's going, though most go to my room anyway—is the job for her. At times my dad looks at me with this odd expression, and sometimes I find myself doing the same. There are some pretty weird magazines here, I have to admit…

"Moving in?" asks some random person walking by. He's got fairly short blonde hair, though there's so little there that he might as well be bald. Still, as he waves at my father something about his demeanor reminds me of someone…

"Just my son, Kyle," says my dad, chuckling slightly. "Kyle, you know Butters Stotch, right?"

"Kyle!" he exclaims, coming over to me to shake my head. His actions seem the same, though his voice does sound a bit different. I remember how he had his redneck accent and his slight stuttering problem; it seems like he's lost both. "You came back!" I merely nod, looking over to one of the many boxes still on the cement, and then to my mother.

_Just for now_, I write on the box once I've taken the marker from my mom. _Hopefully I'll get back to work soon enough, but in the meanwhile I'm hanging out with some of the people I haven't heard from in a while._

"Oh, boy!" Butters exclaims, though without his old accent it sounds so out-of-place. "Can we hang out some time, Kyle?" I raise the marker to write something but I decide against it. Instead I merely nod, inciting several more cheers out of him. I'm not sure how to view Butters; I mean I know it is part of his personality and character to act the way he does, but he's in the twenties… Though his voice sounds right for his age, somehow the way he talks still reminds me of our high school days—hell, even as far back as elementary school.

"Eh, do ya' need help there?" He points to my things, and I assume he's asking me to help move things inside. I nod, motioning over to the boxes, and he merrily begins carrying boxes inside. With three people doing the job things go by much quicker, though as we continue to work I begin to wonder what my definition of "not having many possessions" is—it still takes a ridiculous amount of time to finish.

After we finished Butters and I remain in my room. He's in high spirits, as he always is, and from what I can comprehend I think he's considering this his time to "hang out" with me. He tells me of some things that's happened in South Park during my absence—many of which I've already heard of—and the entire time it's as if it's a privilege to inform me of my missed past.

"They didn't think I'd graduate from college," he says, his voice still not ceasing to surprise me. "But then I showed 'em!"

_What college did you graduate from?_ As I show my message to him for an answer. I'm curious, though, as to why he hasn't yet asked me why I'm writing everything down on paper…

"Colorado State," he replies. "Majored in Art History…"–Yet again he's surprised me—"but I never really used that major… Now I'm a gardener." Gardener? _Gardener_? Does Butters ever stop in amazing me? But now I think about it… even though I would've never thought of Butters becoming a gardener in the past, it seems to be rather fitting… He has this admiration for simple things in life, something I really wish I could do… "You should come to my house sometime, Kyle! Oh boy, do I have some flowers I wanna show you…"

Flowers…? I just hope he doesn't have any g—but I don't worry about it as he walks around my room, navigating himself through the maze of boxes still on the floor.

"Well I think I'm gonna go, Kyle. I told Craig that I'd meet him at Stark's Pond later today… we're gonna go fishin'!" And as I wave some sort of a goodbye he leaves me alone in my room. It's what I hate most about goddamn mornings—you begin having this really good day only to have it ruined by things you forgot. Stark's Pond reminds me of Stan… and Stan reminds me of last night… and last night reminds me of how much he doubts…

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Hey dude," said a voice as Kyle made a third lap around the perimeter of the pond._

"_Hey… Stan…" The Jewish boy looked away as he stopped pushing forth, waiting for the raven-haired boy to catch up. With a skid Stan came to a halt, swiveling on the spot to face Kyle, and as Stan smiled Kyle continued to look toward the horizon._

"_Are you skating by yourself?" Stan asked. "Dude, we came here as a group, right…? There's time for solitude later!"_

"_But Stan—!" protested Kyle, but Stan merely smiled, and before Kyle could protest any further the raven-haired boy grabbed him by his wrist, dragging him along the ice as he skated forward. Eventually Kyle gave in, kicking his skates to allow himself to skate freely beside his friend. "Fine dude, I'll skate with you. But what, do you wanna race or something?"_

"_Nah, maybe later," Stan said, looking at the space in front of him. "I just wanna relax for now… leisure skating, I guess."_

"_You need me to do that?" Kyle asked, and Stan nodded._

"_Sure, dude. It's really pleasing for me to hear your voice, as weird as that sounds. I mean, it's like I can't really feel angry when I'm around you." He turned to Kyle, who looked away with a slightly confused face, but Stan only laughed. "Well, I'm not really sure what I mean either, so I dunno."_

"_I can sorta see what you mean," said Kyle. Yet as they continued to skate the only thing Kyle could think of was, 'Come on Kenny… help me here…'_

"_Yeah… sorry for my random statement there…" Kyle could hear their conversation crumble apart, the silence after each sentence growing increasingly longer, and the degree of awkwardness only increasing. They continued to skate, but it was only when they made a turn at the end of the pond did Kyle realize why he felt as awkward as he did._

"_Stan… I'm skating on my own already… You don't need to hold my hand still." Stan turned to the boy and looked at the gap between them, and as he noticed this he quickly drew back, leaving a very red Kyle deprived of contact._

"_Sorry dude," Stan apologized quickly, looking away. "Man, I really suck at life today…"_

"_No you don't," Kyle muttered quickly, but as Stan turned to him curiously he felt himself turn red. "I mean… You don't…"_

"_No, that's fine… thanks." Stan smiled as he looked toward the sky. "I guess this is why I like you as my friend… You're there to support me, and you pretty much like me for who I am."_

"_Pretty much." Another turn around the pond… where _was_ Kenny?—and Eric, for that matter. It'd be a perfect time to tell the boy, Kyle figured, but… He wanted to wait for Kenny to help him, to give him that opportune moment, but where was he…? Should he just tell Stan now?—or wait for Kenny? "So, uh… Stan?"_

"_Yeah?" Kyle found himself coming to a halt, and as he watched Stan spin around in front of him he began trembling. He knew he could do it—well not really, but he believed he could—but as Stan approached him his determination began faltering—he needed Kenny._

_But he didn't want to wait for him any longer._

"_Why'd you stop?" Stan asked, frowning slightly as he came to a halt in front of him. "Don't make me drag you along again."_

"_No it's not that," muttered Kyle, looking away._

_Stan tilted his head and placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "You okay, dude?"_

"_Yeah, sorta…"_

"_Stop lying, Kyle… Tell me." Kyle sighed as he tried raising his head to meet Stan's gaze. A hypothetical approach?—or a direct answer? It was questions like these that Kyle had hoped Kenny would answer for him… But there was no Kenny to aid him—only himself._

"_If I said something that upset you… how mad would you be at me?" Hypothetical approach?—not really, but it wasn't exactly direct either…_

"_Like I said earlier," Stan replied, patting his hand on Kyle's back; "I can't really be mad when I'm around you…"_

"_Even if I joked around and told you your mother died?"_

"_Nah, dude. I'd just take it like you were joking or something." Kyle nodded, taking a deep sigh. Like he was "joking"?—would he then think that Kyle was joking once Kyle told Stan he… liked him._

_There was definitely a distinguished silence amongst them, somewhere between Stan's confused self and the nervous Kyle he was still holding on to. They were probably receiving odd stares from the people around them, but both were too rapt in the affairs between them that neither seemed to notice. Kenny would've been no help at this point, since he had opted to only help him talk to Stan and not to help him actually confess; yet Kyle still wished that the blonde-boy could help him out somehow…_

"_I—I…"_

"_Say it, dude… It'll feel much better once you've gotten it off your chest." Kyle took another deep breath, turning away as he felt Stan looking at him all the more. It only took so much to tell him… but would he be ready to deal with the resulting consequences…? "I'm… I'm sorry, Kyle. I shouldn't be forcing you to tell me whatever it is you want to tell me."_

"_Huh?" Kyle asked, quite confused at Stan's change in voiced thought._

"_Well, I just thought… I just find it weird that you just… changed attitudes suddenly, and I really wanted to know why… but if you're uncomfortable telling me I understand."_

"_No—No!" Kyle exclaimed suddenly, startling Stan. "I really wanna tell you… It's just…"_

"_Just say it," said Stan, squeezing Kyle's shoulder once more. Maybe the renewed contact was making Kyle nervous once more… "It's not like I'm gonna judge you or anything…"_

"_You promise?" Kyle asked, and Stan nodded._

"_Yeah, dude." Kyle sighed, nodding slowly. He looked at Stan, who was smiling encouragingly at him, and as he took another deep breath he opened his mouth._

"_I think I… I think I like you, Stan." His gaze immediately turned away as he finished his rather short statement, and as he felt himself turn red he didn't even want to know what Stan thought of him. He could already feel tears coming, and as he felt a salty tear run down his check he knew he would need many Kleenexes that night—he knew the result wouldn't be good._

_Actions do speak louder than words, as Kyle found out the hard way. Even as neither boy made any attempt to say anything, Kyle already knew Stan's current emotion. As he held back tears he felt Stan let go of his shoulder, and merely staring toward the ground told him that Stan was backing away. He made a half-hearted attempt to look at Stan, and though his face didn't show any signs of anger it was still clear that he was confused. He watched Stan back away, he watched him shake his head, and he watched him skate in the opposite direction, leaving Kyle alone in the middle of the lake._

_Kyle was right; Stan was wrong. Even if Kyle didn't have any tangible proof that Stan really hated him, his actions had spoken enough._

_So much for not judging him…_

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Just in case you were wondering... "Eric" in third person; "Cartman" in first person. In case you wonder why I switch his name so much. I'll try being consistent in that regard.-  
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**Another ten reviews to continue.  
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**And I really hope this chapter is up to scratch with the other chapters... rather, I hope it didn't majorly suck. But chapters are increasingly getting longer, as you might be noticing.**  
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Thanks go to **cjmarie**, **syntic**, **Giacomo** (x6), **Flabz**, **Greyhound Master**, **laurenangelo**, **Ren85**, **Sakura Ryokan**, **Phoenix II**, and **Alcorion** for reviewing!_  
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	7. Not Worth the Ink

**Not as many reviews this time... bah. How depressing.**_  
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_I can do so much with words.  
I can write them, deliver them and keep them as my own.  
I can write elegant poems and annunciate eloquent speeches.  
There are so many different ways of using words.  
But what usage of these words will you remember most?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Seven**

"_Kyle, you have to get out of there sometime…" The blonde boy outside Kyle's room knocked on the door once more, but hearing the same response only caused him to sigh once more. He bent down and took a seat on the floor outside his door—he wanted Kyle to open up and let him in, but Kyle didn't seem to want to._

_On the other side was a rather silent boy, sitting along the edge of his bed wrapped in his own blankets—Kyle. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with a salty liquid, and his shirt stained. He had obviously been crying, and as Kenny continued to pound on his door he only found himself suppressing even more tears. It wasn't that he was overly upset with Stan's answer—he had been expecting some sort of a no anyway—but he was depressed how the result had came about, how he had merely left him, and how it seemed to have ruined their friendship. Kyle was convinced that even if they had remained friends he wouldn't have minded, but at that moment that clearly wasn't the case—he hated having this unwanted tension between Stan and himself._

"_Kyle, let me in, at least," said Kenny from the other side of the door. "Don't you want to talk about it at least?"_

"_There's nothing to fucking talk about!"_

"_Clearly," Kenny muttered sarcastically. "Seriously, Kyle, maybe it's something I can help you with?" The blonde boy sighed, pounding his head against the door once more, and as he let out a restrained sigh of frustration he noticed the sounds of footsteps._

"_Kenny?" said a small voice, and as Kenny turned to the stairs he caught sight of Ike. "Why are you outside Kyle's room like that?"_

"_He won't let me in," replied Kenny, but before Ike could reply a much larger voice erupted from inside the room._

"Help_ me? You think you can _help_ me with this, Kenny? Just how you said you'd help me with telling Stan? But where were you, Kenny? Where were you when I told him, huh? Where were you when I fucking told him I liked him?"—and as Ike took a step backward Kyle added—"Where were you when he left me and our friendship?"_

"_Kyle's g—?" started Ike, but Kenny held a finger and he grew quiet._

"_Okay, for one thing, Kyle Broflovski, I_ did_ help you. _I_ told him you were skating alone, _I_ told him to skate with you—you think I didn't help you?" There was a silence for several moments as Ike continued to stand back with a confused gaze, and as Kenny's gaze remained fixed at the door the sounds of Kyle stuttering became audible. After some time Kyle's door opened, and as Kyle peered his head outside his door Kenny smiled at him._

"_Y-y-you did?"_

"_Yeah, dude, I told you I'd help." Kyle smiled nervously, opening the door wider for the blonde boy to enter his room. He glanced upward, noticing Ike standing there; and as his younger brother bit his lip Kyle stepped forward to talk to his brother._

"_How long have you been here?" he asked, his tone being much calmer now._

"_Not too long," replied Ike. "Though I did hear you say…"_

"_Continue," encouraged Kyle._

"_When you said you liked Stan…" Kyle sighed, looking away. So his brother knew now… But as he looked down the stairway Ike held onto his brother's hand, squeezing it tightly to get Kyle's attention once more. "I won't tell mom and dad, I promise."_

"_Thanks," said Ike. "But… you don't care?"_

"_No dude, you're my brother, and I don't hate people for stuff like that… Although, I could make a case out of the fact that you hated me for being an adopted brother."_

"_Please don't," said Kyle, laughing. He took his brother in an embrace which lasted for several seconds, and by the time he let go he turned away to enter his room._

"_Hey, Kyle?" The older brother turned around, holding onto the doorframe as he looked at Ike. "I don't know what's going on with you and Stan, but I really hope things get better for you guys."_

"_Thanks Ike."_

- - - - - - - - - -

I enjoy silence.

But not living a life of silence—rather, living in silence. While I don't enjoy not being able to talk to anyone, there's something about a silent environment that I like—even when I used to be able to talk, I enjoyed being able to sit down and hear myself think, to contemplate on life and where to go next. Now I find myself doing that constantly, as the only I think I really can do is replay all my thoughts and opinions in my mind—like a broken record—and thinking of life is only something I do naturally, to wonder how much I miss being able to express myself.

I burp quietly, a result from my mother's meal, and as I pat my stomach gently I lightly place my head on my desk. I'm not sure what I'm going to do about Stan yet, but by the way he abruptly left last night I'm not sure how he currently views me. In the past I know he's said that he could never be angry with me—well, angry _around_ me, but it implies the same thing—but that had been in the past, and as I had just witnessed from a rather surprising experience with Butters I know that people change with time.

So, setting aside that old fact of the past, how _does_ Stan view me? I can faintly remember how he had reacted when I saw him for the first time since my departure from South Park—that scene at my front door—and how he had been near tears when I wouldn't respond to him… though I think I _did_ cry. I want to think that Stan was upset because he thought that I wouldn't talk to him in shame of leaving him those years before. Perhaps, then, he didn't hate me at that particular moment.

I can hear the garage door opening downstairs—Ike's arrived home—but I barely take notice of it as I try thinking of my next encounter with Stan. When had that been?—in front of the restaurant that Kenny worked at? Wait, that isn't right… There had been a moment before, back at my house when my parents found out about me being mute… and now I think about it, for the reactions they initially gave me they haven't talked to me much about it—my mom didn't even ask me how I became this way, something I would've thought she'd ask… It's a similar effect with Butters not asking me why I had written everything down on paper, I decide.

I conclude that Stan hadn't been quite angry at me when I had embraced my brother in my arms, and I move on to the scene outside the restaurant—where I had asked him if he still loved me. I can remember how he shook his head slowly, retreating backwards before walking into the restaurant and leaving me outside on my own. It reminds me slightly—well, much more than slightly—of when I had first told him that I loved him, how he skated backwards and left me alone in the lake. Perhaps the only thing I can think of is how I didn't mind him touching my shoulder, and how he had been quick in removing himself from my grasp.

There's a phone ringing in the distance but I'm not bothered by it. What bothers me the most, though, is why Stan had still talked to me like nothing had happened. Well, obviously excluding when Kenny had dumbly asked if we were still going out, Stan had conversed with me as if we were still on friendly terms with each other… Does he still want to be friends?—but then, why did he flee so quickly? Had he been afraid to start a friendship—let alone a relationship—with someone he couldn't communicate with? Had he been afraid of giving me a second—third—maybe fourth—chance?—although I do admit that _is_ asking a lot…

"Stan?" I turn around to see my brother Ike, who's unaware of his disturbance of my thoughts… Still, I nod my head, beckoning him to me. He's wearing a Slipknot shirt today, and while I remember who the band is I'm not familiar with what their songs are. He's also got a phone in his hand, and as he approaches me he hands it to me. "Phone."

I'm trying to see if he really has forgotten that I can't talk or if just wants me to listen to everything that caller has to say… Suddenly I'm hoping it's not Stan on the other end. But as I point to my throat slowly the person on the other end scolds at Ike, and as Ike slaps his head in stupidity—having just realized my inability with talking on phones—I realize it's not Stan, at least.

"Write down what you want to say," says Ike, pressing some sort of button on the phone. The other end becomes easier to hear—which is what putting a phone on speakerphone would probably do—and as I clearly hear the voice of the caller my eyes grow wide. Unlike the case with Butters, I can definitely recognize who this person is without second thought.

"Goddamnit Ike just hand the goddamn phone over to Kahl already."

"He can't come to the phone," my brother replies, looking at me. I take out a sheet of paper from one of the drawers of my desk, snatching a pen.

"Is he there? Did he really come back?"

"Yes," replies Ike, who's merely reading off the paper I've given him. "He's here beside me but he can't physically come to the phone and talk to you, so he's telling me what to say."

"Uh… whatever, fags." Cartman sighs, and there's a temporary silence between them. "What I gotta tell Kahl's personal… want me to speak anyway?"

_Sure_, I write, and seconds later Ike says the same thing into the phone. After all, Ike already knows a good portion of my life.

What I hear next, though, is something I'm not quite expecting. "GODDAMNIT KAHL MAKE UP WITH STAN!" It's so loud that my parents downstairs have probably heard him, and even Ike takes a few steps back. My mind first jumps at how he's found out about our feud, though quickly it becomes more concerned with why Cartman cares. As my mind _then_ decides that it wants to know how Cartman thinks I should deal with the situation, I settle with asking the initial question first—though it takes Ike a good two seconds to realize that I want him to say something.

"How'd you know about that?"

"Talkin' to Kenneh last night," Cartman replied, sending my mind into curiosity. Why had Kenny told him, anyway?—but I don't bother asking Cartman about it just yet. "But that's not the point. So what're you gonna do, Kahl?" I scratch my head in contemplation, trying to figure out the answer for myself.

_I don't want to talk to him_, I write on my paper, Ike relaying the message. I'm not sure if talking to him would be the best idea, as it's a topic that seems to be hard to discuss… Yet I want Stan back… I suppose even if it's not in the way I'd like it to return to, there's something in me that seems to want to at least settle with being friends… _I might write him a letter to explain myself._

"You sure 'bout that, Kahl?" he asks me, and there's something in his tone that reminds me of his past character as a twisted schemer. "You sure that's the best idea?" And as he continues to sputter such questions I sigh, looking out the window. Maybe writing a letter isn't the best idea I've had…

- - - - - - - - - -

"_I don't think you should say he hates you," muttered Kenny as Kyle paced around the room. "I mean, if what you said is true, I don't think Stan hates you."_

"_The way he left me there… his expression seemed cold… something I've never seen before."_

"_Well still, Kyle. He said he'd never hate you, right? So… he's probably just confused how to react."_

"_He said he couldn't be _angry_ around me, Kenny. He could still _hate_ me."_

"_Why do you keep thinking he hates you? He's your friend, Kyle, and knowing him I doubt he'd leave you just because of something like this."_

"_He doesn't love me," said Kyle, looking out his window. "He doesn't have any feelings for me, and he's not talking to me… That's why I think he hates me."_

"_Then he doesn't hate you," said Kenny simply, taking a seat at the edge of Kyle's bed. He glanced at Kyle, who was wearing a very confused gaze—as if having just been proven wrong—and with a sigh Kenny expounded. "If he doesn't have feelings for you, then he doesn't hate you. Hating someone requires a great amount of feelings toward that person, you know…" Kyle stood with his mouth agape for some time, staring at the blonde boy as he tried putting what Kenny said into context—he had never known Kenny could say something so… deep._

"_Then what is he then? Apathetic?"_

"_Inexpressive, I think," Kenny replied. "I'm sure he does care about you still, but he just had a hard time expressing himself."_

"_How do you know all this stuff, Kenny?"_

"_I'm an observant kid, I guess," said Kenny, smiling. Kyle took a seat at his desk, turning his back to Kenny as the boy fell back onto Kyle's bed. "I think you should talk to him."_

"_What?" Kyle asked in disbelief, spinning his office-chair around to face Kenny. "Won't talking to him just make things… worse?"_

"_You think?" said Kenny, staring at the ceiling. "And you think that avoiding this whole thing will make things better? Talk to him, dude. If neither of you ever gets anything across no one will ever know the truth behind all of this."_

"_But… if what you said is true… he won't know how to react. I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, Kenny."_

"_You'll have to deal with that," was the reply. Kyle turned back to his desk, cradling his head into his arms. Clearly he didn't want to do what Kenny asked him, but as it seemed he didn't have a choice. Yet there had to be some way of avoiding it, Kyle was sure…_

"_Can't I just write him a letter?" Kyle asked. It was a likely alternative in Kyle's mind, at least. It didn't involve them interacting, which had been Kyle's major problem…_

"_Do you want that?" Kenny asked, causing Kyle to raise his head to turn to him. "I mean, you misinterpreted Stan's reactions, right? Are you sure you want Stan to do the same with your intentions of the letter?" Kyle sighed as he glared at his feet—damn Kenny and his random sense of logic. "You sure you want to trust paper and ink with your words?"_

"_Fine, goddamnit," said Kyle, standing up from his chair. Kenny stood up with him, wearing a very wide grin; and as he looked at the blonde he sighed one more time, biting his lip. "I'll tell him in person, then."_

- - - - - - - - - -

"Well, Kahl?" I'm sure Ike's looking at me with a funny stare, but I don't mind. I'm sure whatever gaze he's wearing is loads better than imagining Cartman's face. But Kenny had been right, now I think about it. Somehow, then and now, telling Stan myself was better than writing a letter.

And then, as I show Ike my message to Cartman, I laugh. Back then, that all made sense. Telling Stan in person instead of writing to him was easy, but now… Kenny's logic makes no sense. I can't tell Stan in person—even if I were to sit down with him in person I'd still be writing my thoughts on paper just to tell him…

"You gotta talk to him, Kahl," he tells me, but my mind doesn't really think about what he's saying. My mind's still with Kenny's logic. I know what Kenny's saying is true, but… It's not like I can easily choose that option anymore…

"He says, 'I want to, but I can't'." Ike looks at me, and I shake my head; I don't want Cartman knowing about this yet.

"Come on, it's not that hard. All ya gotta do is reach an understanding and whack him on tha head if he doesn't listen." He pauses a moment, probably to wait for some laughter, but when he gets none he grumbles. "Seriouslah, Kyle. Just come to an understanding with him."

_I can accomplish that in a letter, can't I?_

"Gosh, Kahl, don't you see the point? You gotta be there to defend yourself!" I bite my lip, turning away from Ike and Cartman's voice. I _can't_ talk to Stan, if Cartman only knew that… But maybe Cartman and Kenny are saying the same thing, that a letter does no good because I won't be able to present my feelings properly… Maybe just being there is the point both are trying to make.

"Okay, I'll try," Ike says for me, giving in. Although… for giving into Eric Cartman, the most persuasive fatass of the land, the response I get isn't pleasing in any way.

"God_ damnit _Jewboy!" He growls at the other end, and there's a slight rustling on his end. "You gotta have more confidence in yourself!" I heave a sigh and begin writing down my next response, but this time Cartman doesn't wait for me. "That's it, Kahl. You've left me no choice. I'm going ova there to settle this mess."

Ike doesn't even wait for my reply. "No, Cartman, that's perfectly—!" But he hangs up. My brother looks at me, and as I bite my lip nervously I tap my foot nervously and stare at the scribble-filled paper in front of me—yet another person entering the hectic battlefield. Yet as I give Ike my silent thanks for his help and as I watch him leave my room, I can't help but wonder if Cartman entering my affairs will just make matters worse.

Knowing Cartman, probably.

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**So after seeing how Kenny, and now Ike, learned about the relationship with Stan... how does Eric Cartman know?  
(maybe another chapter will tell you, hehe)**

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**I probably butchered Cartman's speech again, but eh, I'm not good at it.**

**And I won't be updating for a while... must start studying for a major math competition next weekend, sorry. So I expect reviews when I get back? No minimum this time, but since I won't update for a week or so (don't plan to, at least) I expect a good amount?  
**

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**Thanks to _cjmarie_, _Suzy_, _Forevastyle_, _Giacomo_, _Phoenix II_, _Flabz_, _laurenangelo_, _H.C.G_, and _Greyhound Master_ for reviewing.**


	8. Futile Pursuit

**There's this wonderful thing in Florida called FCAT Writes tomorrow, and since I'm a Junior I can go to school late. And since I'm tired of studying for math, I typed this up. Enjoy?**

**EDIT: Thanks to Tako for the correction!**_  
_

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_At times we become rapt in the mindset that we are superior.  
What we do should be regarded as highly  
what we think is genuinely our thoughts.  
In all this we sometimes forget the possibility  
that the action that we may be trying to accomplish  
might have been attempted by someone else._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Eight**

"_May I see your boarding pass, please?" Kyle nodded, presenting a woman the said boarding pass and a photo ID. The woman, who was dressed in a navy blue uniform, glanced between the two items for a couple of moments, and as she nodded Kyle stepped forward. "Second booth to my right."_

_Kyle was at the airport, more specifically at the security checkpoint. His mind was already set on going to Harvard—he was only hours away now—and as he stepped out of his shoes he couldn't help but think of how different his life would be. The same thoughts were running through his head, how he'd have to remember to contact his family and friends quite frequently and not be too absorbed in his studies… Kyle was sure, though, that he'd be able to manage._

"_Place all metal objects, shoes, electronic devices, and all other possessions that might cause the metal detector to go off into the bins. Be sure to keep your photo ID and boarding pass ready as you pass through." The officer's voice so monotone, probably because he had to repeat the same lines constantly, and as Kyle walked barefoot through the metal detector he though of saying some sort of hello to the officer—but on second thought, as he snatched the ID from the Jewish boy, Kyle thought otherwise._

"_Gate A15, to your right," said the grumpy man, and as Kyle nodded his thanks he was quick to reclaim his possessions and leave the area. He had roughly a half hour before boarding time, and as Kyle glanced at his watch to make sure he frowned._

"_I think I have time to snatch a cup of coffee," said Kyle, redirecting himself to a local coffee shop. As he waited in line he began to think of how he'd live life there—would he join any clubs or fraternities?—how many classes would he take? Indeed Kyle was quite excited about being at Harvard… but leaving his family behind…_

"_And what kind of coffee would you like today?" Kyle looked up to find a brunette woman smiling at him, treating him as cheery as her profession forced her to be, and acted as if she had known Kyle for many years—though, that was probably how she treated every customer._

"_Café Latte," Kyle mutter, only barely paying attention. His mind was still in the mindset of leaving home, leaving everything he had grown up with… Stark's Pond, South Park Elementary, Shakey's Pizza—all of it he would be leaving behind._

_He hoped his mother would be fine._

_He grabbed the coffee from the woman's hand once it was ready, and giving his thanks quickly Kyle left for his airport terminal. A15, he reminded himself, and as he gazed at the large signs to his left and right he found himself walking to the very end of the building. He looked around, noticing how full it already was, and as his eyes fell upon an empty seat Kyle set his stuff down and sat down in it._

"_Traveling alone?" asked an old man beside him, and as Kyle turned to him he nodded. The old man was fairly easy to describe, as almost every man his age looked like that—but there was something about him that made him different, perhaps his personality. "What brings you to Massachusetts?"_

"_I'm going to Harvard," said Kyle, almost a bit too excitedly._

"_Ah… You remind me of my son." Kyle frowned, looking away. "My son was accepted into Harvard years ago, back when I was forty-five or so."_

"_Okay…" While not many were accepted into that law school Kyle was still sure that it wasn't a legit reason to remind him of his son…_

"_I take it then you're leaving your family here in Colorado?" Kyle nodded, a bit unsure of the man's intentions. "Make sure you never forget the people who raised you."_

"_Of course I won't," snapped Kyle, taking a sip of his coffee. "Why would anyone do that?"_

"_Ask my son that," the man replied softly. Kyle's scowling face immediately turned into a face of sorrow, and as he turned to the man he saw sadness in the man's face. Suddenly Kyle began having doubts about moving away…_

"_I'm sorry…" Kyle sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. How could someone forget people like that?—especially parents, of all people… "So he never came… home?"_

"_Never heard from him since the day he left, thirty years ago. I waited for him to come back, or for him to at least call, but he never did either of those things. My wife waited as much as I did, but we never heard from him…"_

"_Oh," is all Kyle can say. To completely forget about the people who raised you… Kyle hoped he wouldn't end up being someone like that. "So then what brings you to Massachusetts?"_

"_That same reason," he replied softly, sighing. "My wife's sick… Her greatest wish was to see her son again…"_

"_But if she's sick why are you leaving her?"—but as he continued to watch the man's reactions his intentions became clearer to the Jewish boy. "You mean you're actually going to—?"_

"_Search for my son? Yes, that's what I intend to do."_

"_But Massachusetts is huge!" exclaimed Kyle, catching the attention of some of the people around him—then again, talking to random people at the airport wasn't something people did commonly. In a whisper Kyle continued, "I'm not sure you'll ever find who you're looking for!"_

"_It's what my wife wants, and if there's even a chance I'll do it for her."_

"_It's been thirty years!" Kyle points out. "He won't even look like your son!" But it seemed that whatever Kyle tried saying wouldn't convince the man of his decision—and probably not just because he had already spent money for the ticket. The old man seemed very certain of his decision, no matter how many times Kyle pointed out the potential flaws of his plan._

"_Attention all passengers flying from Denver, Colorado to Cambridge, Massachusetts, with a stopover at Boston," came a voice—some lady speaking into an intercom. "We welcome you to board the aircraft. Please have your boarding passes out for inspecting." Both Kyle and the man found themselves standing up to the call, and as Kyle collected his things he turned to the man and sighed._

"_I hope you find your son…" said Kyle, extending a free hand. The man smiled, gladly reaching his hand out to shake it, and as they grew steps away from leaving Colorado the man turned to Kyle._

"_You too, young sir… I hope you'll be able to find whatever it is you might be looking for later in life."_

- - - - - - - - -

I find my parents in the kitchen when I make my way downstairs. I'm not sure if they've always been there, if they've not left since lunchtime, or if they've merely gone back to the kitchen a few hours after. Regardless, they seem to be in a heated discussion when I catch sight of them, and as I wave a hello to them I'm greeted with the same hang gesture.

Well, that's one thing I can say without having to use paper… But then, as I sit down at the table with my parents, the idea comes to me… Teaching my family some basic sayings in sign language wouldn't be too bad.

As if reading my mind my mom begins to speak, and it's amazing sometimes how that woman can tell what other people are thinking of. "Kyle, dear, we've been thinking, your father and I; and we were just talking about how hard it is for us as your parents to not be able to—"

"—Get to the point, Sheila, I think he has other things to do…"

"Okay, well… I think that it'd be a good idea for us to… you know, learn sign language so that we can communicate better." Of course, my mother's ability to read other people's minds means that I don't have to introduce my own suggestions… "It's going to have to be a two-way deal," my mother says as I nod—though quickly I frown.

I search frantically for a writing utensil and paper, and with my mother's freaky ability she hands me both. _I already know sign language, ma._

"Oh, that's wonderful!" she exclaims, turning to her husband. "Gerald—!"

"In that case can you teach us some things? I hope you don't find this offensive or anything, but we really just want to be able to understand you sometimes without you having to write everything down." At that moment I decide, then, that my parents merely want to understand it and not really learn it, and I quickly agree to my father's proposition.

_Why would I be offended?_ I ask, but instead of waiting for an answer I go straight to work. I teach them some basic things first, like _hello_, _goodbye_, _thank you_, and stuff like that—though I'm sure they've already known that before hand. But as I teach them _sorry_ my mind begins running out of ideas—what _would_ you teach a parent to say? I'm sure they already know the middle finger—although, I keep reminding myself, they only want to be able to understand me.

After teaching them a good selection of phrases, and after a few odd glances from an entering Ike, I decide to stop. I've taught them enough simple phrases—things that a five-year-old would generally say—though that means I'll probably be using pen and paper to communicate still.

"Thank you, Bubee," says my mother, and I nod. "You've made me very happy, you know."

_Why_?—I didn't think I'd be using my newly taught sign language so quickly…

Apparently my mother is fairly happy she can understand, because when she replies her voice takes some sort of a creepily high pitch. "Even though it isn't hearing your voice… it's still coming directly from you. And I—I think I can live with that." I frown, though for her sake I nod and quickly make my lips smile instead. What difference did it make?—writing something down on paper was still coming directly from me, right?

That's my mother for you.

"Maybe you could teach us some more sign language later?" says my father, and I nod. There's no harm in that, right?—but before I can reply to them (I would've used more sign language, too!) the doorbell rings, which startles all of us.

Well at least, all of us initially. It isn't long before I remember that Cartman's supposed to come over.

"I'll get it," says Ike from somewhere in the house, and he's followed by a loud thumping of feet down the stairs. I get up from my seat and make my way toward the door—I'll have to go there eventually anyway—but I can already hear his voice before I even get there.

"…Where's Kahl?" I can hear him ask. He seems more calm and collected in person, but maybe it's just because there's nothing to be excited over yet. "Where _is_ he, Ike? I wanna talk to him!"

"He's somewhere," Ike says, and as I turn the corner he points at me. "There, actually."

"Kahl!" Cartman exclaims, and before I blink twice I'm being wrapped in his embrace. While he isn't as remarkably fat as he used to me, the thought of being this close to him still disgusts me. "I've missed you so goddamn much, Jewboy…" He waves apologetically to my parents who are staring from a distance; but I suppose they've already gotten used to it.

And of course, normally I'd make some snide remark regarding his weight, but as I physically can't…

"Gerald, I think it's best if we left," says my mother—most unlike her nosy demeanor—and my parents exit the foyer, leaving me with Ike and Cartman.

"What's the matter, Kahl?" he asks me, punching me lightly in the side… or at least, I _think_ his intention is lightly, because it hurts like hell afterward. "I know you used to hate me, but _damn_. Don't hafta give me the silent treatment."

I guess telling him is inevitable. I nod at Ike, who seems to have been watching me this whole time.

"He can't talk," Ike says for me, and Cartman gives me that face that everyone else does. "That's why I was talking to you for him… He physically can't speak…"

All Cartman can say is, "…Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?"

I shake my head.

"… Kahl…" And then he's hugging me once more. I'm not any less disgusted as I had been minutes before, but at the same time I'm trying to figure out why he's hugging me. Unless… unless he still remembers my promise? "Aye, Kahl!"—he pats my back—"Who'll call me a fuckin fatass now? Who'll kick me in the nuts when I do something wrong."—he pronounces that word "raong."

I want to respond to him but I don't have anything I can use to communicate with him.—but as if reading my mind Ike hands me a paper and pen. I've used these things way too much over the days… _Why'd you come here?_

"To fix your damn relationship with Stan," he replies, taking a seat at the edge of my bed. I swear, if that thing cracks… "I'm not sure what's going on in you guys' lives, but you really gotta do something about it."

_Like what?_

"Talk some sense into him. Tell him you love him still. Goddamn it, Kahl, I did not get you guys together those years ago just for you to give up like this!"

Yes, Cartman is responsible for this relationship's existence… sort of.

_So you're fulfilling your duty once more?_

"Exactlah," he replies. "Now get your scrawny-ass Jew-self outta this room and talk to him!" I shrug, heaving a sigh as I turn away from Cartman. He just doesn't understand… He doesn't know what's happened between me and Stan. In his mind nothing's happened, and the tension between us is another mere quarrel.

_But what if he hates me…? He doesn't care about me anymore…_

"Goddamn Kahl, he does _not_ hate you!" I feel his cold hand grip my shoulder, and in mere seconds he's flipped me around. "If he didn't care about you he couldn't hate you."—I swear, he talks to Kenny too much—"He probably just doesn't know what to say."

_Maybe he doesn't hate me… but he still doesn't care for me._

"Kahl, you fucking asshole." I dare to gaze into his eyes, and I'm met with quite an unnerving glare. "He does care for you, Kahl. Don't make me show it to you."

_Do it_. I know I'm right.

"If he didn't care for you he wouldn't be talking to you still."—He's not, though—"If he didn't care for you he would've abandoned you the minute he found out you were mute."—He almost did. I'm beginning to think he doesn't have any logical reasons, and my itching body seems to be agreeing. I peel myself out of his grasp, grabbing my coat and storming past Ike.

"Kyle—!" Ike exclaims but I don't listen. I'm quickly running down the stairs now… damn Cartman. Why'd he have to come? He's only getting himself into things he doesn't know anything about. But what less can I expect of him?—he had never been intelligent unless he meant to, and I'm quite sure this isn't one of those times.

"Kahl!" Cartman screams after me as I burst through the door. I wanna scream something like '_Get the fuck out of my sight, Cartman_,' but I can't. "Kahl, Stan cares for you!"—Bullshit.

And then, as I'm about to dash away in a sprint, Cartman utters a single sentence, a sentence so cold it reminds me how that fucking fatass has a way with words.

"If Stan didn't care for you, why did he try finding you, Kahl? Huh?" My feet immediately relax, and my body's suddenly against sprinting away into the horizon. What did he say?—do I want to believe him?

"He did," Ike affirms as he walks up to me. "I should've told you earlier, back when I told you Stan kept talking to me… I told him I didn't know exactly where you lived, but he kept asking me. He told me he wanted to find you… I didn't think he was serious…" I turn first to my brother, and then to Cartman. Stan tried… looking for me…?

_But that was back then_, my mind tries reasoning with me._ That has no indication if he hates you now_.

But I end up ignoring that voice. Stan tried finding me… Somehow it meant so much to me, yet I don't know why. Stanley Marsh actually getting on a plane to find me in Massachusetts?—I'm not sure how many more times I can repeat it to myself.

And then, my temporal euphoria vanishes. My mind races back to that day on the plane when I met that old man, how he had left Colorado to find someone he loved in Massachusetts also… who had also left for Harvard… Somehow I do agree with that man now, how he really _does_ resemble me in many ways—but that's not a good thing. I feel sympathy for the man, even now, years after… and then suddenly I feel sorrow for Stan.

I wonder if that man ever found his son…

…I know Stan hadn't been so lucky.

I walk over to Cartman, and as he looks at me with a sincere face—something I rarely see—I hug him. Me, Kyle Broflovski, initiating the hug. But there's no feeling of disgust this time, or at least for me. What Cartman's said… It's made me think how I keep thinking about my own worries, how I'm always worrying over such things… And all this time I've completely forgotten about how other people worry about me too, how they care about my wellbeing, especially since I can't talk… Yet I've forgotten to remember that, and as I let go of the hug he gestures toward his car, and I step in.

In the end I decide to talk to Stan about everything that's happened in the past few days—but not because I want to stop worrying about him, but because I want him to stop worrying about me.

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**I think this chapter sucks. **

**Again, I suck at Cartman lines. Sorry... I'll take Cartman Speech 101 when I get to college... eventually...  
**

**I'm going back to studying for math. Reviews while I'm gone? I'm sure they'll make me perform better at the competition. And a happier Zak means a better, well-written chapter?  
**

**Chapter 9 deals with a major decision of Kyle's regarding his voice... Might wanna get ready for that... **

**Cartman helped Stan and Kyle get together? What the heck could he possibly mean by that?  
**

**- Zak -**

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**Thanks to _Suzy_, _Too Lazy To Log In_, _Craigxfan_, _Tako_, _random style fan_, _LaColere_, _Sakura Ryokan_, _Hannah_, _Giacomo_, _Elsie Grandewing_, _Flabz_, _Phoenix II_, _H.C.G_, and _forevastyle_ for reviewing!**


	9. What We Take for Granted

_**Holy mierde! 99 reviews, people! I'm so psyched and happy and thankful for you guys!  
I've given up studying for math. Chapter 10's hard to write, but I'll see where I can get with it.**  
_

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_When we speak we don't think of what we're saying.  
What we say cannot be taken back—  
yet we still talk without second thought.  
If we removed ourselves of such a privilege  
would we begin watching our words?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Nine**

I think there's a voice telling me in my head that what I'm doing is wrong. It sounds awfully familiar—and annoying—yet I can't recognize the voice. I'm sure Ike's looking at me funny—how my face is strained, trying to remember this thing I shouldn't be doing and whose voice is saying it—but frankly I don't care. I want to know what I'm doing wrong.

"Goddamn it, Jew!—stop being so goddamn spacey."

Oh wait, I remember now. That's definitely my mother's voice in my head, and I'm pretty sure she's telling me to not go off with random strangers.

Oops.

But I mean, Cartman's not really a stranger, is he? Sure, he looks much different now; he's incredibly thinner—though, as he had been the size of a killer whale when I last saw him, he's still awfully obese—and he's grown his brown hair a bit. But he really isn't any different than when I last saw him, right? He's still the same Jew-discriminating fatass I grew up with.

"Kahl?" And then there's Kenny. Kenny, with the same physical appearance—blonde hair, blue eyes, and almost the same height since his high school years—yet is _he_ a stranger? He's almost like an opposite of Cartman—his internal self's changed completely, not his outside appearance. He's made this huge turnaround—it's almost unfathomable, since I remember Kenny to be quite the lazy kid in high school. He's done something good with his life, but it doesn't help this random concept of strangers that I've somehow whipped up.

And then, there's Stan… but I won't talk about him at the moment.

"_Kahl_!" Apparently Cartman agrees with me. "What'd I say about bein' so goddamn spacey?"

I swear it's almost as if Ike _knows_ when I want to say things—and it's just a bit freaky how he always has a pen and a pad of paper handy. But I guess that's what brothers do…? I write my message and give it to Ike to read, since Cartman's driving at the moment and can't look at it for himself. "Sorry. What else am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno." Typical Cartman… or at least I think it is. I'm not sure what's really typical of that boy anymore. "You better not be so goddamn spacey when we get to my house."

One day, hopefully, everyone will know sign language—but until then… "Why are we going there?" Ike says for me.

"Talk about more of this situation of yours," he replies—as if we haven't enough already. "And my mom wants to see you. Got really excited when I told her I was visitin' Kahl."

I smile nervously at the thought—hopefully she won't add me to her list of fuckables… We reach a red light, the last traffic light of South Park—though I'm still curious if we've always had them or if I've just never noticed them before. I've never really been to North Park before, and I'm quite curious what it looks like… and how far north it really is.

Since we're not moving I decide to show him my message this time. _How long ago did you move to North Park?_

"I dunno. Musta been a while ago though. That woman of a mother moved while I was at college, and when I got back she wasn't at the house. Damn woman could've at least told me. But she called me and told me she got some important job in North Park. Been there eva since." You know, I think Stan's told me this already… In fact, I think he has. I can remember his remark quite well about his mother sleeping with that manager person…

A green light is the signal for me to write another message and for Cartman to hit the pedal. I look over my left shoulder—goodbye to South Park… for now. _Do you talk to anyone from South Park, still?_

I get the response I want. "Kenneh."—and of course I'm not surprised. Cartman says so many things that Kenny's said too… plus, he even said himself Kenny told him about my current conflict with Stan. That reminds me, I still have to ask him about that… "Sometimes Stan… Wendeh, too."

I suppose he has a little crush on Wendy? But after that day she randomly kissed him… But that had been while she was dating Stan… back when he would never have thought…

Back to Stan, again… What's wrong with me?

"Kahl, we're gonna have this talk now." He really sounds like a parent, which scares me. Wait… maybe he is one?—with whom, his mom?—oh gosh, I can't believe I just thought of that.

I used to use the phrase "oh my g-d!" but I've learned that Jewish people shouldn't really be using his name. I mean, they can't even write g-d's name on paper in the fear of defacing his name.

I suddenly find the trees outside my window quite amusing to look at. Evergreen conifers… It amazes me how they're always green, even with the harshness of winter, and their leaves—whatever they're really called—don't fall as easily as other trees' leaves do. To have such endurance in such callous conditions…

"You and Stan…" He trails off as I continue to stare out the window. Haven't we talked about this enough? I mean, even he's starting to run out if things to say. "You've decided on telling him already, right?"

I nod. At least that's something I don't have to write down…

…And then I nod again, this time when Cartman's looking.

"How." It's not even a question, though I'm sure he means it as one. I'd probably be struggling for something to say right now if I could speak but instead I tap my pen against the paper, thinking instead of what to _write_.

A deer runs across the road behind us, but I don't bother to realize that we've barely avoided an accident. Frankly put, I don't have an answer to give him.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Don't ruin it… don't ruin it…" Kyle glanced up quickly to look at his companions, and when he's noticed no one's heard him he resumed muttering under his breath. OCD?—not quite, but the Jewish boy was worried as the four walked along the main road that ran throughout South Park. They had no particular purpose—only to find relief to their boredom—and it wasn't by any coincidence that Stan and Kyle were at the ends of their moving, miniature sidewalk blockade, not to mention Stan's gaze fixed at the stores on the opposite side of the street and Kyle's gaze locked at his feet._

"_Hey dude, what're we gonna have for lunch?" Kenny asked._

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_I got it, you guys!" exclaimed Eric. "Let's go to Shakey's Pizza!"_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

_Kenny's voice came next. "The cloned one or the original one?"_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_Cloned, definitely."_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_Ruin what, dude?" Kyle abruptly raised his head at the question. Well, so much for not ruining it… Their whole blockade came crumbling as Kenny and Eric stopped and turned to Kyle. It was like a triangle, Kyle happened to notice, and Stan was merely some random point in the same plane._

_Clearly there was still tension between the two boys._

"_Nothing…"_

"_What the fuck ever," said Eric, turning away. "Come on, Stan. Let's get away from these fags." Kyle knew Eric hadn't been serious, but as he took Stan and started walking with him he could've sworn he saw Stan look behind his shoulder. That damn word, 'fag;' Eric had used that word before, and Stan never minded it… Yet now that Stan knew about Kyle's preference…_

"_No, not nothing," said Kenny, peering into Kyle's turned gaze. "Ruin what?"_

"_Ruin this… Making a fool of myself like I am now. Letting Stan see me like this."_

"_He's not looking at you right now," replied Kenny, raising Kyle's chin. "Just remember that everything will be all right. It'll all get better soon."_

"_I want it to," said Kyle, and as Kenny started walking he found his feet moving him forward as well. "But I don't want to talk to him like you said…"_

"_I thought you decided on that already?"_

"…_until my birthday's passed," finished Kyle._

_Kenny turned to Kyle, tilting his head while still encouraging the Jewish boy to catch up with their friends. "Why?"_

"_I don't want to spend my birthday on a crappy note," said Kyle, shoving his free hand in his pocket. "If I talk to Stan before then most likely I'll get just that." Across the street Wendy and Bebe waved a hello, but neither of the two saw it. They caught up to Stan and Eric at long last, just as they were approaching Tom's Rhinoplasty, and as Kenny joined Eric's side he whispered into Kyle's ear:_

"_As if you're not having a crappy time now?"_

_Kyle remained silent._

"_About time, fags," said Eric, scoffing. "What took you guys so goddamn long? Screwing each other's brains out in the back alleh again?"_

"_Aw, gross dude!" exclaimed Kenny. "Why the hell would you think of something like that?"_

"_Wouldn't be surprised if you did." Perhaps the sentence wasn't as bad as it had sounded, despite the fact of its negative connotation. After all, the boys were being quite lighthearted, and what they were saying wasn't being taken into serious consideration. In fact, half of their group probably didn't even see anything wrong with that sentence and regarded it as a mere joke._

_The only thing about it was that Stan had said it, and it wasn't Kenny he had directed it to. In fact, Eric was the _only_ one who didn't know whom the sentence was meant for._

"_You fucking bastard." And then there was the argument of acceptable behavior in such situations—though Kyle didn't dillydally with such ideations. Radical behavior and language, Kyle decided, was more logical. _

"_Wait, guys…?" said Eric, though no one listened to him. "What's goin' on?"_

"_Shit, Kyle… I shouldn't have said that…"—yet Kyle wouldn't listen. Stan was in actuality truly repentant, and he even made it visible in his facial expression—but Kyle wouldn't listen. Sometimes the mind works up its own perspective of what actually happens, and here that clearly was the case._

"…_You guys…?"—Eric was ignored._

"_What the hell's your problem, Stan?"_

"_Kyle, really, I'm—"_

"—_we were once best friends, dude… What I told you doesn't have to change that!"_

"_It doesn't!" Stan pleaded, turning away. Kenny's eyes widened after hearing this, but Kyle didn't notice._

"_Then why the hell did you just say that?" Kenny sighed as Stan prepared for an answer—was this what Kyle meant by "not ruining it"?—but then, if Kyle had kept his cool, maybe he would've heard the piece of consolation Stan had uttered seconds ago…_

"_I don't know I wasn't thinking, dude…" Kenny figured that Kyle could've at least realized Stan was talking to him, not to mention showing signs of repentance… Maybe Stan was sorry for other things?_

_But Kyle would never know._

"_You're fucking confusing me," said Kyle, suddenly bracing his head with his hands._

"_Kyle…"_

_A woman and her child were looking at the four oddly. Only Eric showed any interest in their spectators._

"_I'm gonna go, dude," said Kyle, heaving a sigh. "I can't… I don't…" but he never finished his sentence, instead turning away. He had walked slowly enough for Stan to catch up, and as Kenny looked between the two he half-expected him to. Stan had shown enough repentance to do it, right…?_

_But he didn't. And that bothered Kenny._

"_You're not gong go after him?"_

"_No," Stan replied to a shocked Kenny._

"_But—"_

"—_I've already tried apologizing," said Stan softly, ignoring Eric's next round of confused questions. "There's no point in trying again." Kenny sighed, shoving his hands in his orange hooded jacket—an upgrade from his parka. But what he was wearing was half-important (if at all) to any of the boys, as Kenny immediately began tugging on Stan's sleeve._

"_Cartman!" Kenny called behind him as he began pulling Stan away from the pudgier boy. "Talk to Kyle."_

"_Kahl?" Eric repeated. "About what?"_

"_Just talk to him—ask him what's wrong—convince him to do that thing he wants to do, _now_." And as a confused Eric began walking the path Kyle once took Kenny turned to Stan._

"_I don't want to apologize again," said Stan, looking away. "I might come across as… annoying."_

"_You're just as bad as he is," said Kenny before pulling him into a café. Perhaps soon now they'd get their feuds settled._

- - - - - - - - - -

I think most normal people don't ask their rivals about their unsaid intentions. But see, I'm not normal, as people can probably guess from the mere fact that I can't talk. Throw in the fact that I'm a homosexual Jew and that I've actually befriended that rival, and clearly I am _not_ normal.

But I suppose that's why the minute I enter his house—which happens to have a whiteboard in his mother's miniature office—I immediately scribble a question that interrogates such thoughts—_why the hell are you helping me_?

Ike laughs at my boldness, but I don't think Cartman holds the same reaction. He's not really a rival now that I think about it, since we really do have some memorable moments together—but then, what rival helps you get your first boyfriend?

I guess that's why I asked him—and maybe I'm normal then, in that regard. There's no denying that not being able to talk isn't something people see every day.

"I can't help a friend?" he asks me, and I shrug. It's just… It's just not like him to jump quickly out of his own way to help someone. I'm almost positive he has some other intention behind what he's doing—and as he erases his mother's whiteboard with some special solution I leave the room. It's actually a rather nice house; maybe North Park is where all the rich people live—with the exception of Token. Still, there's a large staircase that leads to the rooms upstairs, several blue couches surrounding a plasma TV, walls covered with exotic wallpaper… What _did_ his mother do for a living now?

"It's not bad," Ike says as he places a hand behind me. I'm still not entirely sure why he's tagged along, though from the car ride it's pretty obvious I need him. In a way he's like my voice… I should probably thank him one day for what he's doing, but at the moment something else is bothering my mind: Stan. It's why I'm here, no?—and as Cartman returns to us with a used paper towel I decide to ask him. There's more emphasis on _decide_, of course, as I'm not exactly capable of asking him at the moment.

Sometimes I wonder if we were really wrong in concluding that Cartman isn't a psychic. "So what're you gonna do, Kahl? You still haven't answered me." And then Ike comes to the rescue once more, handing me a pad of paper and a pen. I swear my brother's loaded… but in all seriousness I do wonder why he always has these things handy…

_Talk to him?_

"No fuck," he replies. "Like… are you gonna be direct with him?—speak hypothetically? Seriouslah Kahl, you gotta think about this kinda stuff."

_I can't speak, for one thing_. I see his expression change once he's read this, and I smile lightly as I continue to watch him. I'm still trying to figure out his motives behind what he's doing for me, but I suppose I'll find out in due time… although, by then things may already be haywire. _I think I've gotten it down already, Cartman. Don't worry._

"You sure?" he asks and I nod. "From what I heard from Kenneh…" He turns away as he says this and I frown. And then it hits me, the reason why he's doing all of this for me. Ever since he first told me… ever since he had… Why hadn't I thought of it before?

…But just in case I'm wrong I don't say—write—anything. Just in case.

Instead; _I'm positive, Cartman_. And now I realize I've come here for no reason, then—except maybe to see his mother again…

The doorbell rings and Cartman runs to answer it.

…or not? But what woman doesn't have a key to her own home?—most likely it's someone I don't know. I remain in his room as I hear Cartman's heavy footsteps down the stairs, and as I look at Ike he merely shrugs. I get up from my seat to look around the room—blue walls, much like the couches downstairs, but only so much of it can be seen because of the many history-related posters he has up. Vietnam War, World War I and II maps… I know he had an obsession with Hitler but… I should ask him one day what he took up in college…

I walk over to his computer, where there're many loose papers spread around. The papers match the desk, but that's hardly important once I look at what the papers actually say.

"Kyle, maybe you shouldn't be…" but I don't listen to him. On Cartman's desk is a list of phone numbers, with a corresponding name beside it—but it's more than just that. The first name on the list is Mrs. Cartman's name, of course, and following that is a bunch of names I don't recognize. The numbers and names are all typed up—probably a hard copy that his mother gave him—but at the bottom there're several numbers written in pen—Stan's name, Kenny's name, and my name. And as I stare at the bottom of the list carefully I smile.

I'm right. I really do know Cartman's motives then.

"Kahl!" Cartman yells from downstairs, and that's our cue to go downstairs. I let Ike go first, and as he smiles nervously at me we leave Cartman's room.

You know, I always wondered how Mrs. Cartman slept with so many people, as she was butt-ugly in my opinion. But now, as she's standing beside Cartman at the foot of the stairs, she really isn't all that bad-looking anymore…

…I think makeup's the reason, though.

"Kyle Broflovski, it really _is_ you!" she exclaims, and she takes me into her arms. I hope she temporarily forgets I'm legal now… I'm not sure if she'd ever even think about adding any of Cartman's friends to her list of already-fucked people, but I sure hope that she would never do such a thing. It's… disgusting on so many levels. "And Ike, too!"

"Hi," he says, looking at me. "I think Kyle says hello, too." I nod, affirming his statement.

"Oh?" she asks, looking at me curiously.

"He can't talk, ma," Cartman explains.

"Oh…" is all his mother can say at the moment. I'm quite used to the reaction though, as almost everyone gives me it. A sign of sympathy followed by an apology—I don't know anyone who hasn't done that. Although… Butters still hasn't ceased in surprising me… how he hasn't even questioned why I don't speak to him. I guess there are some reactions that I've never gotten before, then…

Including her next one, but it's such an expected response I'm not sure why anyone else's asked me before.

"Why don't you have therapy? You know, to help improve your voice… Is it just that your vocal cords don't vibrate anymore?—I'm sure they can do something about that." How she knows this stuff makes me frown—is her new job relate to stuff like this? "And wasn't there that man who didn't have too well of a voice?—Ned, was it? He had a voice box help him talk—you could resort to something like that."

I sigh as Ike and I reach the bottom of the stairs. It's not like I haven't thought about it before. Of course I've considered doing something about my voice, especially in the early stages of this condition when adrenaline was influencing my decisions. I've already been offered those options, but it's been so long since anyone's asked me about them—as hard as it seems.

But my decision remains the same. I shake my head.

No, I do not want my voice back—even though it prevents me from properly communicating with the world. Like I said before, I'm not normal. But even in my idiocy of not wanting to return to the way I was—or to even get near to what it was—I have my reasons. Without a voice I have the need to think of how to express myself. I actually _think_ about what I say, how to say it, and many other things that are too confusing even for myself.

I know that what Stan did had been one of the major factors in my decision, that day he made that snide remark. While I can't make assumptions on his behalf I'm almost positive he didn't think twice about what he said, and by the time he realized how it upset me he wanted to take it back. But no matter how many times he tried apologizing, he could never undo what he said.

I don't want to fall into that trap—to say something without meaning it.

And even as Mrs. Cartman shrugs at me, and even as Ike gapes at me with an open mouth, and even as Cartman remains motionless, the only thing I can do is think…With a voice I know I'll abuse it… I know I'll never think about what I say until I've said it

—and by then it'll be too late.

* * *

Tsk, tsk, Kyle... how disappointing, but what can you do? 

Math competition is on Saturday, but by the rate I'm writing chapter 10 I doubt I'll get it up by then. I'll tell you how I do when I get back.

Thank you to **cjmarie**, **Jackson Wood**, **Lumina Lin**, **La Colere**, **Tako**, **Giacomo**, **Ren85**, **Elsie Grandewing**, **Phoenix II**, **Flabz**, **Greyhound Master**, **Forevastyle**, and **Suzy** for reviewing!

-Zak-


	10. Agreement to Live On

_Do not fall into the trickery of the mind.  
Do not follow patterns that aren't meant to be.  
If we live only in the illusion of what we've seen before  
we will never arrive at that full potential._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Ten**

"_I ruined it," Kyle muttered to himself as he found himself turning onto his street. It had been quite the unpleasant day—there had been a very strong wind, and by the darkness of the skies rain would soon follow—maybe even snow. Yet as Kyle walked past nearly uprooted trees he knew the weather wasn't the only thing that was making such a day unpleasant. In his mind Stanley Marsh, his best friend, had completely caused his world to crumble._

_But it wasn't the rejection that had caused this—though a similar effect to a lesser degree occurred when that had happened. No, Kyle was upset because Stan had made a homosexual-bashing remark that he barely even meant._

_As if his intentions registered well in Kyle's mind—the black and white version of the events merely stated that Stan made the comment. Any spectator could tell that Stan was clearly sorry for what he had said as he had merely spoken what his mind had thought at that particular moment, and Stan did his best to show his repentance. Yet, when one is angered or shocked such efforts tend to get lost in translation._

_Which ultimately led to Kyle's simple assumption: "Stan hates me."_

_Though the boy Stan didn't really "hate" Kyle—if the Jewish boy would merely talk with Stan instead of just assuming things he would get the perception correctly. But in truth Kyle didn't even know what everyone was telling him about "talking to Stan."—were they simply referring to another confession, only more organized?_

"_I'm not doing that," said Kyle softly, shoving his hands into his jacket's pockets._

"_Not doin' what, Kahl?"_

…_Apparently not softly enough._

"_What'd you want, fatass?" Kyle asked, walking all the more briskly. He could hear Eric's pants for breath as he walked faster, the heavier boy being forced to walk at a faster pace—yet even despite that Eric had still been able to catch up. With a large, firm hand upon his left shoulder Kyle slowed to a halt, turning around to give his cold expression to Eric._

"_I wanna know what's goin' on, Kahl."_

"_Fucking liar."_

_Eric sighed and turned away. "All right, all right, Kenneh asked me to talk to you. But Seriouslah, Kahl, you seem really fucked up." Leave it to Cartman, of course, to be blunt about touchy matters._

"_It's none of your fucking business, Cartman!"_

"_Well if it's Kenneh's business, and if Kenneh asked me, then it's my business." Kyle sighed, shrugging Eric's hand off his shoulder, but as he turned around to walk away he was merely held back again. "Kenneh asked me to ask you what's wrong and he wants you to do that thing you wanted to do."_

"_But he hates me," said Kyle, grumbling. "Why the hell should I talk to Stan now? There's no point in sorting feuds out with him if he's being downright discriminative…" Eric nods, tightening his hold on Kyle._

"_So you like him?" Eric muttered, Kyle staring at the boy in disbelief. How he came to such a conclusion with such little info Kyle didn't know—and as if reading his confusion Eric continued. "Kahl, you suck at hiding emotions. Though I still don't understand what the fuckin' hell you were doin' before I accused you and Kenneh of screwin' each other, you reacted like a fuckin' pussy when Stan said to whoever the hell it was he was talking to that he had been expectin' it. And then—and _then_, Kahl, _this_ is where you screwed up. When you—"_

"—_I don't wanna fucking know," interjected Kyle. "The point is that I don't see any fucking reason why I should still talk to him."_

"_Aside from the fact that you wanna screw his fuckin' brains out?" The heavier boy shook his head, and suddenly Kyle felt the need to take a step back or two. "Kahl, Kahl… Stan's a very dear friend of yours, no?"_

"_Yeah, he is."_

"—_and you'd do anything to get him back, right Kahl?"_

"…_Yeah…?"_

"—_you don't wanna lose him?"_

"…_No…?" _

"—_then come with me, Kahl. If what you said is true you've got no fuckin' choice." _

_And that was that._

- - - - - - - - - -

Maybe I give too much credit to Cartman when I say he originally got Stan and I together—although he did ultimately force me to talk to Stan, I'm sure without Kenny's original effort it would never have happened.

But even as we're five minutes until my house, with me sitting in the passenger seat, staring at Cartman as he focuses on the road, I can't help but wonder if he ever really wanted to help me. I'm sure he had the same motives then as he does now—it just makes so much sense if he did—and the mere fact that he did it because of what his final goal was… For all I know Cartman might be a completely homophobic fatass—though, if the motives I've speculated and proven are really his, then there's a rather small chance he's homophobic.

Much unlike the ride to his house, the ride back isn't as noisy. Cartman's focused on the road, only moving his head to look both ways at a stop sign; Ike's reading a pamphlet Mrs. Cartman gave him on commercial advertising, and instead of making noise he's engrossed in reading; and naturally I can't make noise anyway. He hasn't even bothered to turn on the radio to ease the silence, and so I've been left with my own thoughts.

—which isn't always a bad thing unless your thoughts keep telling you to do something you don't really feel comfortable doing, namely confronting Stan.

My purpose this time around, obviously, is slightly different. That day years ago I wanted to straighten out my feelings with Stan, to present them in a more understandable way, so that he could understand what I meant and to correct any misunderstandings he had. At least, that's what I had in mind going in, and I probably ended up mentioning much more other things.

This time I'm still trying to win's Stan's love, still trying to correct misunderstandings, still trying to present him my true thoughts and emotion in a rational way in light of rather hysteric occurrences. Yet this time I'm asking for a second chance—back then I wanted him to give me a try, a chance to show him it could work out. Back then I wasn't expecting a positive response—now I'm definitely hoping for one.

"Here you go, fags," says Cartman, and immediately I get out of the car. It's not remarkably late in the day yet, and my mind's racing with ideas of how to spend the rest of the day—catching up on sleep, trying to find old friends, and maybe even visit Butters's garden—and I'm already itching as I struggle opening the door to my house.

I'm probably just trying to distract myself from the overall issue that I still need to talk to Stan—but for the moment I'll just pretend I didn't think about that.

"Welcome home, Bubee," says my mother as I bound into the kitchen. She's already making our meal for tonight—probably some Jewish delicacy that takes forever to cook and forever to eat (without vomiting)—and as she turns to me I wave at her and flash a rather warming smile.

_How are you_? It's a rather simple sentence, but that's as complex as I can ask the question with the usage of sign language—she wouldn't understand anything beyond that.

"I'm good, thanks for asking dear." She cuts up some foreign vegetable and tosses it into a stew. "Oh, Kyle!"—whenever she actually uses my real name and not _Bubee_, she tends to pronounce it _Kie-yole_—"I forgot to tell you that one of your friends called. I think it was Stan—maybe Kenny, but I'm sure it was Stan."

I merely raise an eyebrow; I'm pretty sure she wouldn't understand me if I trying signing _please-don't-tell-me-you-said-I'd-call-him-back _with my hands.

"He wanted you to call him back," she continues, and I frown; what part of mute does he not understand?—and like always, my mother knows what I'm thinking. "I told him you could call him back if he wanted you to but that he wouldn't get anything out of it."

I sigh in relief as I hear this—I'm not too sure how thrilled Ike would be, having to mediate another phone conversation, especially one that interrupts him from reading that pamphlet. At least I had avoided another awkward moment with Stan…

"He's going to pick you up soon, Bubee. Whatever he wants to say must be important."

…I really do tend to speak too soon, really.

"Now Bubee, would you like to pack some soup with you before you go?" As if I really care about the soup right now—but I answer her question anyway with the shaking of my head, and as I swiftly exit the kitchen I heave a great sigh. It's all too soon… but then again, Cartman had offered to help mere moments before… Maybe I really should've talked it over with him.

The doorbell rings downstairs. My mother motions to greet the visitor. I'm standing still in the middle of my living room with my back against the door.

It really _is_ all too soon. But as I hear Stan's voice greet my mother at the door I find myself chuckling silently to myself. Here I am worrying about all of this—but the fact remains that no matter how much I worry myself over this the fact that I'll have to talk to him eventually doesn't change.

I can feel his gaze on me now and I know he's coming closer—but frankly I don't care anymore. If I'll have to do it eventually, I might as well do it now.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Enlighten me again," said Kyle as he and Eric peered into yet another window. "What the fucking hell are we doing?"_

"_Lookin' for Stan and Kenneh," he replied, pressing his pudgy face against a fogged mirror—at that moment a young girl on the other side began crying. "Damn, they couldn't have gone _that_ far away…"_

"_Ah, well it looks like we can't find them," said Kyle nervously. Eric turned once to Kyle, not failing to notice his attempted escape; and a quick grasp of his wrist is sufficient enough to keep Kyle by his side._

"_I think they're in there," said Eric, pointing to a sign above a building: "_Harmon's Café_." It was a rather rusty building, with a wooden sign made of planks of wood masking-taped together; and as they approached its entrance they were greeted with a rather flimsy door. "Come on, Jewboy, get inside."_

"_But—" Kyle began, but there was no negotiating with him. With a force that only a person of his weight could produce Eric pushed a reluctant Kyle through the doors._

_And then, quite suddenly…_

"_Oh. My. God! Kenneh, Kenneh! There's this oh so amazin' thing outside! Quick, quick! I think it may be raining pennehs outside!" Kyle let out a low chuckle under his breath as Eric rushed forward to grab Kenny by the arm. There was clear distaste of Eric's joke in Kenny's eyes, but a quick glance at Kyle and he nodded slowly, allowing himself to be overtaken._

_Now all that was left was…_

"_Hey."_

"_Hey." Kyle found himself blushing as Stan gestured toward an empty seat beside him, the seat that Kenny had once occupied. Kyle sighed, accepting the invitation, and as he took a seat he looked anywhere but at Stan—the checkered tablecloth seemed very amusing to look at._

"_I really am sorry, dude," muttered Stan. "I think it was wrong of me to… say that."_

"_It's okay…" Screw the checkered tablecloth; the ceramic tiles looked even more fascinating._

"_You aren't mad at me, are you?"_

"_No." Ah, fuck it—Kyle raised his head to look at Stan, trying his best to stare into those crystal-blue orbs. "Are you?"_

"_Am I what?"_

"_Mad… Are you mad at me?"_

"_What for?"_

"_For… For liking you…"_

"_Oh." Kyle sighed as he turned away yet again… Maybe talking to Stan hadn't been such a good idea. "Of course not… why should I be?"_

"_Well, well…" and as he struggled for words Stan smiled. "Well you… well… Doesn't it bother you that… that another guy likes you?"_

"_No." And as Kyle began tapping his foot nervously Stan smiled some more. "It's not like you can't help it."_

"_But then… but then… why did you leave me on the lake—by myself?"_

_A smile disappears. A foot taps against the floor even faster._

"_I didn't know what to do… I didn't want to say anything that'd hurt you so I said nothing…"_

"_Leaving me like that hurt me more." _

"_Oh…" The two remained in silence for some time, both trying to figure out what to say next._

"_Can I explain myself?" Kyle asked suddenly, causing Stan to frown._

"_Explain yourself? What else is there, other than the fact that you like me?"_

"_Well… I dunno… maybe _why_ I like you, why… I dunno I was under the impression that you hated me, and now I know you don't…" He took a deep breath, biting his lip and tapping his foot all the more rapidly. "I'm sorry Stan… I should never have liked you."_

"_Don't be sorry for what's not your fault, dude," said Stan. Kyle frowned, but as he felt another foot on top of his tapping one he sighed yet again—he felt more relaxed, suddenly. _

"_But I _am_ sorry, dude. I wouldn't have all these feelings for you if this had never happened… there wouldn't be this odd feeling between us… we wouldn't be having this conversation…"_

"_What's wrong with this conversation?" Stan asked._

"_Well… I dunno, dude. Doesn't it feel weird that you're talking to me about this?"_

"_No." And as Kyle raised his head to look at Stan he found the raven-haired boy already smiling at him. "You assume too much, Kyle Broflovski."_

"_Oh?"—and as Stan nodded Kyle couldn't help but smile with the boy. Did this mean…?_

"_I don't mind if you like me… But… would you be willing to let me like you back?" And what followed was perhaps something Eric would see in cheesy romantic movies with cheesy puffs in his hands in the privacy of his house. Neither boy paid attention to the fact that they were in public, nor that Kenny and Eric were watching them from a partially opened door—nor even that their waitress was squealing from afar doing what some girls would do upon seeing two boys in love._

"_But now what?" Kyle asked as he leaned back into his chair. "I mean… we worked our way up to this point, but once we've gotten there."_

"_We'll figure something out," said Stan, pulling something out of his back pocket. "But for now… let's decide who's gonna pay for this bill."_

- - - - - - - - - -

Do I know anything anymore? Everything's seemed to have changed over the years, up to the point where I'm not even sure anymore. So many things are so alike, like how things seem to play out as if history repeated itself; but many other things have changed so much I'm no longer positive if I really know this place anymore. And it's not just things and places—many people I feel have changed so much, like Stan and Kenny—but then there are so many people that haven't, like Cartman.

I'm so confused.

But apparently so is Stan, who's sitting in front of me keeping the silence just as well as I am. Maybe if Kenny were actually working at the restaurant today and not at one of his other jobs… maybe we'd have something to talk about. But instead Bebe's the only person left to entertain us—though she doesn't because this restaurant is apparently busier during the daytime.

I'm not sure what to do. I have no idea still what _exactly_ Kenny had talked with Stan about last night, but I suppose it had been enough for him to think in silence. Frankly put, I still don't even know what Kenny and Stan had been talking about all those years ago when I was trying to talk to Stan. Somehow it worked out then—maybe Kenny had talked to Stan…

Fuck it, I'm going to talk… or write, same thing.

I pick up a pen that Ike managed to give me before I left, but I suppose I never get the chance to start. He immediately raises his hand and somehow I find myself stopping.

"You shouldn't be talking," he muttered. And then, what amazes me even more, he raises his second hand. _You're not at fault._

What the fucking hell? _You didn't tell me you knew sign language…_

_I'm a nurse at the hospital… I had to learn it_. I'm staring at him in disbelief… all this time he knew… But then, it wasn't as if I ever asked if he knew it. But then I decide that's going a bit off topic, and as I turn to him I continue.

_That's what you said last time. But it is my fault. I shouldn't love you… especially if you don't love me back_.

_It's not your _fault, he tells me, frowning. I'm trying to figure out why he's still talking in sign language—it's not like I'm deaf—but I suppose it allows less people to eavesdrop. _It's not like you can help it_. And then my mind dives into a sea of memories, those words being almost verbatim… though Stan _had_ been smiling back then. _I have to admit I have things to apologize for too. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did_.

_It's okay_.

_You aren't mad at me, are you_?

_Not really_—and I realize I've just repeated yet another scene. Not intentionally, I think, but… never mind. My mind's too occupied to think of coincidences. _I think I need to explain myself, though. Why I still love you, why I feel the way I do._

_What else is there, other than the fact you still like me?_ I bit my lip and turn away. I wonder if Stan knows what he's saying too—I wonder if he's finding any parallels in what we're saying… and if he's doing it on purpose. Deciding to say something that I'm positive I've not said in the past—at least, at that particular moment of it—I ask him.

_Do you still love me?_

_I've already answered you_, he replies solemnly. _No, I don't_.

_Why?_

"Because I can't," Stan muttered, and almost immediately I can feel him looking at me. I'm pretty sure in my head there're not going to be any more parallels between then and now… "I'm sorry for not being accepting at first… not accepting the fact that you can't talk for my own selfish reasons… and as much as I'm happy that you still love me, and as much as it pleases me that you never really did abandon me like I thought you would and as thrilled as I am that you're here… I can't…"

_But why?—_and as I turn toward him I can see tears in his eyes. Why do I keep making grown men cry…?—first Ike and now Stan; I'm almost positive Cartman was just about ready to, as well.

"Because… Because I l—" but he doesn't finish. For a split second he merely stares at me, and I frown, trying to figure out why he's doing it. But then, as I tilt my head in confusion, I realize he's not looking at me. I begin turning my head, trying to decide who it might be behind me—Cartman, Kenny?—but by the time I'm looking at the person leaning on my chair I realize it's not quite who I expect.

"Stan!" greets Craig, waving his hand over at him. Stan merely bites his lip and smiles back. Then Craig turns to me, and as I smile at him he's frowning. "…You seem familiar… Kyle?"—I nod—"It's been quite a long time, dude. Do you remember me?—I'm Craig."

I decide to keep my next sentence within the vast lands of my mind; _Yes I remember you, Craig, but quite frankly I'm not the person you should be shaking hands with right now_—though he does it anyway. And as he pulls a chair to join us at our table I'm seething under my breath. Stan's looking at me nervously, but all I can do is shut my eyes. Standing abruptly I get up and walk away.

Would I _ever_ get to hear why he doesn't love me anymore? Thanks to Craig, maybe not.

* * *

I hope this is up to your standards. 

Thanks to **Giacomo**, **Lumina Lin**, **Earthborne**, **PP. Bunny**, **Forevastyle**, **Ren85**, **Phoenix II**, **Flabz**, **cjmarie**, and **H.C.G** for reviewing!

At any rate, my math competition is now less than twelve hours away. I'm so glad I got this chapter up before I left. It might be bad because it was really hard to write, but hopefully chapter eleven will be much easier.

- Zak -

* * *

If anyone would like to write quotes for future chapters feel free to send me them! I'm running out of ideas in my head, and having some good, varied ones would be nice. I will credit, don't worry... review or PM me if you're interested. 


	11. Everlasting

_At times we become rapt in the mindset that we are superior.  
What we do should be regarded as highly,  
that what we do is always right.  
In all this we sometimes forget the possibility  
that the expletive we are reprimanding others about  
may be an action we exercise frequently.  
Sometimes, we forget we can be hypocritical._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Eleven**

"_Are you doing anything today?" _

_Kyle turned his head to look at Stan, shaking his head and smiling. "No, why?"_

"_You sure you aren't busy?" Kyle frowned, shaking his head yet again. It was quite obvious that Stan was nervous, looking at the way his fingers were fidgeting. Still, Stan gulped down a breath of air and continued. "You wanna… I dunno, like… do something today?"_

"_Like?"_

"_I dunno, dude. Maybe eat somewhere… watch a movie…" Stan smiled nervously as Kyle raised a finger to his chin._

"_Like a date?"_

"_Sure," Stan replied, turning red at the sound of the word. "That. Wanna go on a '_date_,' then?"_

"_Sure." And that was one of the many complications of dating—it was bad enough experiencing the low drop after the climaxing "asking out" scene. Then two people had to experience the first date, the first kiss, the first make out session, the first… And after all of these the same low feeling would be instilled in them. "When?"_

"_Today," Stan repeated, and Kyle nodded._

"_Okay, dude." And that had been that—for now. It didn't really seem like anything was planned throughout the day, even as the two left the benches to make their way towards class. Sure, it did cross Stan and Kyle's minds that something good would probably happen that night, but the excitement—or even worry—wasn't there like someone would've thought._

_Though, by the time the "date" came close, one boy clearly was anxious._

"_Listen," said Ike as Kyle paced around his room. "I know everything turned out all right for you, Stan liking you in the end and stuff, but seriously, dude, _chill out_!"_

"_But he's coming in thirty minutes," said Kyle, pausing for a mere moment; "to take me out on a _date_!"_

"_He told you this morning," said Ike, shaking his head. "At least you weren't acting like this earlier today…"_

"_No I wasn't," said Kyle, rushing quickly to his closet. "I've been on many outings with Stan before"—Ike laughed at the sound of _outing_—"and for some reason I kept thinking that this would just be like that, only us two alone."_

"_And it's not?"_

"_No!" Kyle exclaimed, now scavenging for clothes to wear. "I was listening to Wendy at lunch today—man can she talk fast—but she was telling me how her first date with… I think it was Token… had been really special for her and stuff. But… but… Ike, this is our first date too!"_

"_So?" asked Ike, standing up from his seat on the bed. "I think you just need to relax and stop being all OCD."_

"_I'm not OCD!"—but even as he said this he was dumping his clothes out of his closet in piles by colors. "I just think… well…"_

"_What do you think?" and as Ike glared challengingly at the back of Kyle's head Kyle dropped his head and sighed._

"_Okay, fine, you win." He turned around and picked up the first article of clothing he saw. "Mom really needs to stop getting us sweater vests."_

"_And Corduroy pants," Ike added. He looked over at the piles of clothing and frowned. "I'm sure Stan's not gonna care what you wear. The fact that you guys are boyfriends now shouldn't make any difference, really."_

"_Yeah, but…" Ike raised his head, waiting for an answer, but upon hearing none he smiled. "Okay fine, another win for you. But I need to get myself together, really."_

"_He didn't say where you were going?" Ike asked._

_Kyle shook his head. "Only if I was busy. But there's nothing in South Park that really mandates you to dress formally."_

"_Just wear whatever." But before Kyle could answer back the doorbell rang, sending him into yet another flurry of panic. "I swear, Kyle, if I hadn't known any better I would've thought I had a sister…"_

"_Ha, ha, very funny." He quickly pulled a green shirt over his head, and as he fitted it on properly he suddenly began to laugh. "I just realized," said Kyle, watching Ike's confused face. "I'm gonna wear a jacket over this shirt anyway."_

"_Exactly," said Ike, slapping his forehead. "I hope you have fun?"_

"_I will," said Kyle, and with a small wave he shut the door behind him._

- - - - - - - - - -

I'm not crying. I swear I'm not crying.

But I can feel something in my eye. I'm really pathetic, I know. I can barely keep myself sane after every moment I have with Stan. I already knew something of this sort would happen, yet I'm wallowing anyway. And I mean, he didn't even say anything new—I'm dwelling over things I've already cried about.

But I swear I'm not crying.

I had my chance. I had been so close… Even though I already knew he didn't love me, I had been so close in figuring out _why_. Although… now I think about Kenny had told me one of the reasons had been because I made many promises and broke one too many. But somehow, as I had sat there in front of him before Craig had to ruin the moment, it almost seemed as if there had been more behind it.

And even as I'm thinking about all this in the men's bathroom, with a tissue to my eye, I swear I am _not_ crying.

…Bullshit.

Even if I do admit to crying what good can come from it? The fact remains that I'm still a fucking wuss standing in front of a mirror. Would Kenny approve of this?—would he rush in here and get me back out there? Probably, but I'm not gonna go back. I doubt anything else good will come out of this…

"…Just hold on, Craig… Let me take care of this…" My head perks up at the sound of the voice… Oh no… It _really_ is inevitable, huh?—"Craig, just…" and then the door opens. There's a small moment where we merely stare at each other, but as I turn away to wipe my eyes some more I feel his hand upon my shoulder.

Immediately I turn around, backing away slightly, but I'm lost in the face he gives me—something makes me want to… "Will you let me finish?"

I nod.

"I didn't think you were coming back, Kyle," says Stan, and suddenly I feel like I know where he's going with this… "I didn't think you'd remember to come back, especially after I called you… So I—I… I gave up on you…"

_It's not too late_, I plead, but he shakes his head.

_I love someone else now_—and as my eyes grow wide he hangs his head. But, but… his promise!—but I don't think he cares that he's broken it. After all, I've broken plenty of my own. Still… had this been what I wanted to hear? Was this what I wanted to achieve after talking to him?

_Who?_—but even as I ask the question I'm already beginning to figure out for myself. Did Kenny know about this?—had he known Stan was seeing someone else? How about Cartman?—did he know Stan had Craig now?

A single word tells me I'm right.

"I know you can't help what you're feeling," he mutters softly, looking at me. "We had this discussion before. But… please understand that it's not going to be the same this time around."

I want to convince him otherwise, but I merely nod anyway.

"We can still be friends," Stan says, extending his hands. "Maybe even best friends, if we ever get back to that level again… but promise me you won't make this hard on me by wanting more…"

Again I want to persuade him to believe other things, but again I go against my instinct and shake his hand.

"Good," he says, smiling at me. There's something warm in his smile, something that makes me smile on the inside as well—maybe that same feeling that started all of this. "Maybe later we can—"

"—Stan!" Craig yells outside, knocking on the bathroom door. "Come on, dude, I gotta go to work."

"I'll see you later, then," he tells me, not even finishing his previous sentence.

And then… he's gone. I open my mouth to call him back to me but I can't, and instead I find myself staring at the back of a bathroom door. Was _this_ why he couldn't love me…?

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Hey dude."_

"_Hey." The Jewish boy darted his gaze upward for a split second, daring to look at the raven-haired boy's eyes; but he quickly found himself looking at his feet once more—clearly he was nervous._

_So was Stan._

"_Wanna get going?" Stan asked, nodding his head toward his car._

"_Sure." Stan smiled, turning around to return to the still-running car; and as Kyle locked the door behind him he soon followed. Hit unsynchronized footsteps found their way to Stan's car; his nervousness gave reason to start conversation—and as Stan started the car the awkwardness caused his uneasy eyes to gaze absentmindedly at the boy next to him._

"_You okay?"_

"_Yeah…" But inside Kyle was anything but. What was he supposed to do?—how was he supposed to act?—what was he supposed to say? "So what're we doing?"_

"_Not sure," Stan said with a goofy smile. "It doesn't really matter as long as we're spending time together, right?"_

"_Yeah," Kyle replied, turning away. Maybe first dates weren't as significant as he thought they were…_

"_Though if you're curious I was planning on having a dinner and movie type of thing, you know? You can choose the restaurant if you'd like."_

"_And how many good restaurants are out there, really?" Kyle asked, chuckling at the thought. "—unless you're the kinda kid who likes Shakey's Pizza."_

"_Shakey's Pizza it is, then."—and after seeing the bemused expression on Kyle's face he laughed. "Fine, fine. We'll take something out from City Wok and eat at Stark's Pond's edge, cool?"_

"_Cool." Kyle laughed briefly at the sound of the store's name—the owner couldn't pronounce the name properly and always said _shitty wok_. "You know the food's really not that bad there. It's just the name that's shitty."_

"_Yeah dude." Stan made a sharp left off the main road, pulling in front of a small store—of course, with the sign "_City Wok_" atop the entrance. "Wanna just wait here?"_

"_Sure." And as Stan got out of the car Kyle couldn't help but stare… and stare… at the City Wok sign, of course._

_Stan came back with a few boxes of food._

"_I can't eat that much, dude!" Kyle exclaimed, taking the food into his lap while Stan climbed into his vehicle._

"_I know, but we can."_

"_City Beef, City Pork… two boxes of City Rice… you sure we can finish all of this?"_

"_Nah," Stan said with a smile, pulling away from the store. "I'll probably bring it home later for Shelley to eat."_

"_Ah…" and as Stan turned to the road Kyle frowned once more. They were surviving on common conversation… In a way it didn't even feel like they were boyfriends at all—though, were two people _really_ boyfriends at this early stage in a relationship?—but then, maybe that's what it really was all about, just being really good friends._

"_We're here," said Stan after some time, and as the car came to a stop he turned toward Kyle. "You gonna get out?"_

"_Sure…" The two left the car and began walking toward the lake. "Hey Stan…?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_You wouldn't… Well, it's kinda stupid of a question, but…"_

"_Say it," said Stan, almost in a demanding voice—though still quite calm._

"_You won't leave me at the lake again, will you?" Stan bit his lip as the two seated themselves at the lake's edge. The moonlight against the sparkling waters was enough to illuminate their area._

"_No," he replied, handing Kyle a box and some utensils. "Of course I won't."_

"_Okay…" He gazed up at the full moon insightfully as he felt Stan tap his shoulder._

"_You really like me, right?" Stan asked, causing Kyle to turn to Stan with a confused face._

"_Yeah dude, of course… I spent forever just telling you, remember?"_

"_Yeah, but it's just…" The raven-haired boy turned away, leaving Kyle to stare at the side of his head. "I'm not sure how to feel right now… Like, is this real…? Am I imagining this?—I just didn't want to have it ruined by you not really liking me."_

"_Of course I do…" and as Kyle looked away to the moon again he sighed. "What'd you thinks gonna come out of this…?"_

"_Hm?"—both boys met gazes—"What'd you mean?"_

"_Like out of this—this relationship between us… Is it going to go anywhere, you think?"_

"_I hope so," said Stan, smiling. "You know… I'm pretty sure we'll make it work."_

"_Forever?"—how cliché._

_Yet Stan still answered. "As everlasting as we can make this." And as ever-cliché the moment had been, Kyle was sure that he'd never forget those words for quite a long time…_

- - - - - - - - - -

I return to an empty table—no Stan, no Craig, and no bill of any sort. Just an empty table. There aren't any used cups or dishes on the table, no dirty utensils—just an empty table.

And yet seeing this table reminds me of my life: returning to what feels like an empty life, yet clean from any past hindrances. All I'm really left with is a blank tablecloth, ready for me to start once more. The distinct smell of the food remains in the area—much as my past lingers faintly in this empty life—and what was once there makes me yearn to have it once more.

It's a bit pathetic that I'm comparing my life to an empty table… and the waitress standing beside me, namely Bebe, seems to think so too.—"Stan paid the bill for you, by the way."

I nod slightly, paying little if any attention to her. I know there's something missing in this picture, but I don't even want to think about it. My main concern is to go home and wallow in self-pity—and then, maybe not at all. My reason and logic are fucked up anyway.

But of all people, Craig…? I'm hoping there had better be a good reason behind this, because as far as my own memory can take me Stan had barely even been close to that boy. Yet apparently I had been gone long enough for it to happen…

"Do you still have that sore throat?" Bebe asks me, twirling her brown curls over her shoulder—I nod. "It must really be that bad, huh?" I nod again—do I really have time to put up with this conversation? My mind's still in an emotional shock of, and here I am listening to Bebe inaccurately start conversation of my voice?

I think Kenny becomes my hero when he walks in through the door—and it's a good thing he's come because I suddenly feel the need to talk to him. I silently excuse myself as I make my way toward the blonde boy, and as he takes off his coat I tap his shoulder lightly.

"Hey," he greets once he recognizes it's me. "What's going on?"—and as I look around the room nervously, nudging my head in a direction other than the one he's in, he understands what I want to say. "I think I have a few minutes before my shift starts…"

Though, I think I'll need much more than a few minutes. But we'll see.

He takes me to some backroom, which I'm thinking is the employee's break room or something. Oddly enough there's a whiteboard in there, half of it filled with a list of names and times. As I watch him approach the board he takes a red dry-erase marker and tosses it to me—incomplete pass.

"Write," he instructs, and I nod.

_I talked to Stan today_, I tell him and his face lights up.

"You did?" he repeats, smiling. "Good that you finally did. So what happened?"

Ten seconds later comes my answer—I wonder how people put up with me writing so slow… _Did you know he's with Craig?_

Oh how easily a smile can turn into a frown… "What?" is all he says; "I-I… I didn't know, I swear… Are you serious?

I nod, and he sighs. "I had no idea, dude… I really didn't. I'm… I'm sorry for pushing you through all of that…"

I shake my head and turn to the board. _Don't worry, I was just asking._

"No but really, dude," he says, fixing the collar of his white dress shirt. "You don't know how I'm feeling right now… I shouldn't have…"

_You didn't know_, I tell him. And then, turning back to the board, I add; _I'm sure if you knew you wouldn't have made it seem like I had a chance at getting him back._

"I know, but it's just… Why didn't he tell me last night when I took him out for a walk…?"—I do the only thing I can do: shrug. "You'll be fine though, right…?"

I nod. He smiles nervously.

"I want to help you get through this, Kyle… I really do. It's just… I just assumed that it'd work out like it did before… I'm afraid… I'm afraid I'd only get in the way."

_You won't_, I reply, sighing. _You're a good friend, and I'm sure that whatever you do will only be well-meant. Don't think I'm mad at you._

"You should be," he says, but I merely shake my head. "Yeah, you should."—and I shake my head again.

_But I'm not_, I end up writing on the board, and that's that. I look at him challengingly as if expecting him to repeat his phrase instead—but instead I find him wrapping his arms around me in a hug. It's quite brief—though it's long enough for him to whisper something into my ear—and even as he retreats and waves a goodbye and leaves the room I remain motionless from the hug.

You know, maybe this situation isn't as bad as it seems, as hard as it'll be to convince the rest of my body that. I'll still be able to show my love for Stan, right?—he just won't show me any of his own… Or even if I wait patiently for the day Craig does something horrid to him I'll be fine with it; he can run to me and things will be better once more. Or perhaps I'll one day get over the fact that he doesn't love me anymore…

I leave the room and the restaurant, and as I begin walking home I can't help but think how different life's going to be now. But I'm sure that no matter what happens there'll always be someone I can turn to. After all, hadn't Kenny promised me exactly that?

"_Whatever happens I'll always be by your side_."

* * *

I'm still taking quotes from my readers. If you have any good quotes to put at the beginning of my chapters (I'd think you actually read those...) you can PM me or leave in form of a review a quote of your own. I'll be sure to credit if I use it, but I won't necessarily use it the very next chapter, remember. 

Please review! I love all my reviewers, and I would _really_ like to hear what you think about this so far (if it's good, bad, etc.). I don't mind hearing the truth, either

And now, random review replies (reviews that need replying to)!

**AngelsWings5** (I'm really happy that I've got you reading StanKyle stories now! It really inspires me to hear that I've written a piece so well that it's admired by those who didn't even originally like the pairing. I hope you like this chapter just as much as you did the rest of the story). **Sakura Ryokan** (I'm really sorry I almost made you cry. You might be doing that a lot in later chapters, maybe. But I'm glad you like my story even if it's so angsty). **Ren85** (I think I answered that question, right...? Please don't cry... but your assumptions were right, much as I dislike it myself. But I'm really glad you think I have _craft_, haha).

And to everyone else, thank you! Once I finish this whole story I'll make more detailed review replies.

- Zak -

(PM me if you're really _that_ interested about how I did at my math competition. I did really well, actually.)


	12. Ephemeral Petals

I haven't forgotten about this story. I was stupid and accidentally wrote Chapter 13 before this one, hehe... And no, this doesn't technically count in my Submission War with Style-xx. So, it's still 3:3._  
_

* * *

_Sometimes we regard our past as worthless.  
What we say as a kid we regard as infantile.  
Maybe, if we listened to our internal self—  
maybe, if we hold onto what we've said as children—  
maybe we might finally achieve something._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Twelve**

I'm not sure how many days it's been now. One?—four? It all seems so systematic that I haven't really been paying attention. I've only spent every day at my house for the past n number of days—staying in the privacy of my room unless needed. Moping?—maybe. Sleeping my days away?—maybe. But I'm sure it's anything but being productive.

I think someone's called the house looking for me—not because my mother's glass-breaking voice tells me so from a floor below, but because there's this gut feeling that tells me so. Somehow something's telling me that there's someone out there who's wondering where I've gone—probably Kenny or Stan—yet I don't want to figure out who.

If they're that worried I'm sure they'll come here themselves.

I'm not mad at the world—not even at Stan. I think I've developed some sort of indifference toward life; I don't really seem to care that much about Ike's favorite bands, what we're having for dinner, what the weather's like outside, where my parents are going—to me it all sounds like the same meaningless, nonchalant noise.

It's not like I just don't bother trying to make sense out of life—I remember spending the first day or so trying to figure out how to look at Stan. Should I be mad at him?—after all, he had left me alone in the restaurant, much as he did at the lake. But then, I'm sure at this point he'd be happier with Craig than he would be with me. Thus I had decided to leave it at that.

Okay, maybe I'm not _exactly_ indifferent at life… but I'm sure it's damn close to it.

"Kie-yole, dear!" my mother calls again I'm debating whether I should answer her. Of course, I wouldn't answer her verbally, but maybe I'd stick my head outside my door or something… Not that I'd have to anyway, because three seconds later and she's tapping on my door.

"There's someone here to see you, Bubee," she tells me from the other side of my door. I frown at the thought, arising from my seat and abandoning the current jigsaw puzzle I've been working on. Who could be at the door, I wonder… Kenny?—Stan?—Cartman?

No. It's Bebe, as I find out when I reluctantly open the door.

"Hey Kyle," she greets me, holding a pad of paper in her hands. "Can we talk? Though if you still have that sore throat of yours… I think you won't have to say anything much… Can we talk?"

Raising my eyebrows with a bemused expression I nod, closing the door behind me as we begin taking a walk. For the most part it's just her reading off the pad of paper and me listening and nodding my head, thought that's perfectly find for me since I'm not entirely in the mood to entertain other people. But at least the weather's decent enough that I can tolerate both it and Bebe's voice.

"So I was thinking," begins Bebe, "that we're probably not going to have this reunion at someone's house. _But_, I've called some places around the area, and there's this good hall a bit outside South Park if that's fine."

Reunion…? What reunion is she talking about?

"I think it'll be in about a week," she continues, and my eyes grow wide. What's this sudden reunion she keeps talking about?—and why so soon? "But I was just making sure to see if everything's okay by you and such. The main point of this was for you to get together with your old classmates, remember?"

Oh. _That_ reunion.

"I was thinking of inviting everyone at first, but then I remembered that you didn't like Eric Cartman too much, which gave me the idea that maybe you didn't want everyone there. Is there anyone else you don't want to invite?"

Man… Wendy really has been thinking about this reunion… and I wouldn't be surprised if she really did start planning this thing as soon as she had gotten home, either.

I reach for her pad of paper and write my response. _I don't mind if Cartman's there. _And then, as I pause in writing, a grin comes upon my face.

"Anyone you _don't_ want coming?" she asks me, and I smirk.

_Craig_.

Fuck indifference in the ear.

- - - - - - - - - -

_The only thing he could hear was silence—perhaps an entrance of a key and maybe the turn of the lock, but other than that he heard nothing._

"_Hello?"_

_His parents' cars were parked in the driveway, which meant that they _were_ home… somewhere. Yet it made no sense. Even Ike was supposed to be home, but he wasn't anywhere in sight._

_Although, 'sight' wouldn't qualify as being very far since all the lights were turned off._

_There was definitely something fishy going on, and Kyle was ready to get to the bottom of it. Slowly feeling his way along the walls he made his way around the room and to the stairs, and with one fluid motion he flicked open the lights._

"_Ha!" he yelled—but there's no one there. Kyle frowned at the sight, half-expecting at least Ike to be hidden in the masses of pillows. Maybe he had even suspected Stan to be hiding behind their couch—but no one was there._

_He went into the kitchen and illuminated the kitchen in the same manner—same results. He knew everyone was hiding _somewhere_… he just couldn't figure out where._

"_Fuck it," Kyle muttered, trudging upstairs to go to his room. He took a particularly long time going up the stairs as the boy was quite tired and felt rather down. That day had been very special to Kyle, yet no one seemed to remember._

_He arrived at his bedroom door, pushing it slowly open as he supported his head. It had been a stressing day—he had driven himself to the "local" DMV office to obtain his driver's license only to find a long waiting line. He waited the entire day there, but throughout that time he talked to no one. He half-expected Stan to at least call him, but he received no such call._

"_I wanna sleep," Kyle told himself as he closed the door behind him. And then, as he opened the light switch, his room erupted into a fit of noise._

"_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KYLE!" a chorus of different tones greeted him, taking Kyle aback._

"_What the hell?" Kyle asked, and as he glanced at his mother he suddenly covered his mouth. "What're you all doing here?"_

"_Giving you a birthday party, of course," said Stan, stepping forward. "Though most of this is your mom's doings and not ours."_

"_Cake!" Kenny suddenly yelled, rushing out of the room._

_Stan answered to Kyle's confused expression; "we told him we'd be eating cake once you got here."_

"_I see," Kyle replied, glancing around the room. "Damn, there're a lot of people here!" His eyes glanced from Bebe to Wendy, Craig to Clyde, Eric to Butters, and even his cousin Kyle._

"_We invited everyone you knew, Bubee," said Mrs. Broflovski, stepping forward. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday, Kie-yole."_

"_I think I will, ma… I think I will." The large group of people made their way down to the kitchen—and it had been then when Kyle realized how cramped everyone had been. People were hiding under his bed, behind his dresser, under his computer table, inside his closet and behind the door…_

"_Here you go," said Mrs. Broflovski once they reached the kitchen._

"_Aw, mom… no, don't do that!"_

"_It's what we've done every year," Mrs. Broflovski reasoned, placing the undesired object around Kyle's neck._

"_Ma, I'm seventeen now."_

"_Yes Bubee, I know, it's on your cake."_

"_Ma, all my friends are watching me."_

"_I know dear, I invited them."_

"_But ma, this ISN'T something you make your sixteen year old son do!—in front of his friends!"_

"_All right, all right, fine." Mrs. Broflovski heaved a sigh and took the bib off. Ever since Ike did is as a child, it had been tradition in their family for the celebrant to eat the first slice of cake with only his or her mouth._

"_Blow the candle, dude!" Stan exclaimed, patting his boyfriend hard on the back encouragingly. "Come on, Kyle, do it!—and don't choke while you're at it!"_

"_I wouldn't be choking if you hadn't whipped me so freaking hard, dude."_

"_Blow the goddamn cake!" yelled Cartman on the other side of the table, not because he was impatient of all their dillydallying but probably because he wanted that delicious-looking cake. Seconds later Kenny whispered something in his ear, but the only reaction the blonde boy earned was an "Aw sick, Kenneh!"_

"_Just make a wish and blow the candles," many of his other classmates and peers began saying to him, and Kyle complied. He paused as he closed his eyes, remaining still for a few moments before taking a gasp of air to put out the flames. His peers around him erupted into applause as his mother proceeded in cutting the cake, and as he took a step back he glanced at Stan._

"_What'd you wish for?" Stan asked as he moved himself into hearing range of the boy._

"_If I told you it wouldn't come true," Kyle said, smiling._

"_But that's just some corny statement," Stan said, pouting. "Come on, you know wanna tell me…"_

"_Nope."_

"_Not cool."_

"_You sound like Cartman," Kyle teased, and as he stuck his tongue out at him Stan pouted._

"_Have the first slice now, Bubee."_

"_Nah, that's fine, ma. You know I'm diabetic."_

"_It's sugar-free."—and as Kyle groaned Stan chuckled quietly to himself._

"_Sugar-free cake…?" Stan asked under his breath. "What's the point in the cake, then?"_

"_No idea," Kyle muttered, wincing at the taste of the 'cake.' "I'm just hoping this party doesn't spend too much time on the cake… I'm sure Cartman's disappointed that it's sugar-free."_

_Sure enough, a saddened Eric Cartman threw a tantrum seconds later._

- - - - - - - - - -

It's about thirty minutes and at least a thousand steps later when Bebe's finished talking to me. We've walked so far that it takes me about an entire minute to orient myself and yet another minute to figure out the fastest—and only—way home. Quite honestly the now brunette had merely rambled for ages on end, though at least she took breathing breaks between sentences—unlike Wendy. Still, in a whole thirty minutes she managed to tell me a good deal of the proceedings and what the place would look like.

Not that I really care…

I step a foot northwest and begin walking home. It's rather nice outside, with the cool breeze of wind managing to sway the leaves yet leave me unaffected save a calming sensation on my cheek. The sun hasn't risen completely yet, which is nice because it's neither too hot nor too bright. With the added touch of the near-cloudless sky and it all adds up to perfect weather.

But even with such weather it doesn't feel as nice as it should. Maybe it's the fact that my mind's telling me once more that I should get Stan to love me again; maybe it's the fact that I've almost listened to that voice; maybe it's that I've told Bebe not to invite Craig.

I think I've thought too long on that matter, because not even a minute later and I'm thinking about someone else—Cartman. With my deals done now comes the question if I should help him. Even though what he did didn't ultimately help me, he still wanted to help me. Assumingly he didn't know that the result would be how it ended up being, but the fact that he helped me makes me want to fulfill his original motives.

He doesn't even know that I know his reasons behind helping me. As far as he's concerned I'm clueless, only being played by some master plan of his. But then, even my current thoughts may have been put into his consideration… But based on what I've deduced, giving him what he wants isn't that bad of an offer, nor is it impossibly hard. And while his results may end up the same as mine, maybe it'll still be worth trying.

Maybe.

I'm probably about fifteen minutes away from my house now—Bebe made me walk _that_ far while talking to her—and as I look at the rows of houses I smile. Some of these houses I recognize; for example, there's this medium-sized house to my right that I'm sure is where Tweek lives. Somehow our old group always found it funny putting lawn gnomes in front of his house, and that lawn knew my tripping feet better than the ants that infested it. At the upcoming intersection, if you make a right you'll land yourself on Token's mansion; but before that intersection Butters's old houses should be on the left side of the street.

However as I approach the crossroads, there seems to be something I don't recognize—an abundance of color.

Where I'm used to seeing green I see orange, red, pink and white instead. There're flowers scattered all over this person's front lawn—and as I approach the house I can tell those flowers probably extend around the back of his house. There's also a person who's idly watering these flowers, with his back turned to me. However, before I try figuring out who he is, my eye falls upon a particular flower.

Of all things…

"Kyle!" says the man, and as I look up it's Butters. Oh, right… Butters the gardener. "Surprise seeing you!"

I nod, my eyes not straying from that flower. I find it kind of amusing that Butters moved into a house not even a block away from his parents' house.

"It's quite pretty ain't it? Planted all of 'em myself!"

I nod again, but it's not the entire garden I'm looking at when I agree with him; it's that one flower I can't seem to peel my gaze away from. _But of course you can't_, I find me telling myself. _You know that flower's never gonna cease haunting you._

"Wanna come around back?" he asks me, gesturing toward his backyard. "I've got a more proper garden back there."

I only find myself nodding for the third time, but if there're any of _that_ flower I'm just not sure what I'll do. It's not to say that I don't like flowers, because I really do like them. They're nice and pretty, especially once they've already bloomed; and they always come in many different colors. No, it's just that one flower I hate, the only flower I dislike.

Indeed, Butters's garden is quite elaborate. The paths are tiled with cobblestone and there are wooden benches along some of them. Along both sides of the grids of pathways are flowers of many colors—roses, carnations, daisies—and I'm sure I can see that dreaded flower from where I am, too.

I nod approvingly of the garden as he shows me around. He points at a particular flower and calls it by name—as if Art History had covered a list of flower names in articulate detail. Most of these flowers I know though—daises, carnations, roses, lilies, and tulips. But there are some I don't recognize, like the amaryllis and the lisianthus. Overall they're all nice flowers though, and there's a pleasant smell here.

"That over there's a gardenia," he tells me, pointing over at a white flower. It looks like something you'd see in a bridal bouquet, with soft, leathery petals extending outward. It is a nice flower, I have to admit, but it's just not something I can appreciate. The mere fact that it looks like it'd be used in a wedding upsets me, and it is times like these when I'm thankful for being mute to prevent me from making an outburst I shouldn't make. "I think they're really pretty. I like 'em."

I can only nod yet again, turning away. As much as I hate to admit it, I agree with him.

- - - - - - - - - -

_It was rather silent in the Broflovski household as remnants of a party lingered for moments after. It was as if it had been a house of chambers, where sounds from the previous birthday celebration reverberated without end. The floors were still scattered with half-full, half-empty, and truly empty cups, all once filled with nonalcoholic drinks since Mrs. Broflovski had chaperoned the entire thing. The hired DJ had particularly been under pressure, having only been allowed to play songs that passed a myriad of set guidelines and regulations; even the guests invited could only do so much while dancing._

_But now there was no Mrs. Broflovski to set her hawk-like eyes on now, and all who remained were Stan, Kyle and Kenny, all sitting in the celebrant's room. They were spread across his bed eating some of the sugar-free cake, and as Stan turned to Kenny Kyle found the need to turn on his computer._

"_Hey Kenny, I think I left something in my car… Can you go get it?"—and with a wink unnoticed by Kyle Kenny exited the room to execute the command._

_At his computer desk Kyle turned around abruptly to face his boyfriend. "You did that on purpose, dude."_

"_So?" asked Stan, standing up to walk over to the boy. "That means we get some time to ourselves." Kyle smirked as he felt Stan wrap his arms around his neck tenderly. He smiled at the thought of their first day a week before where at the cinema they were even nervous to hold hands._

"_What'd you plan on doing in those few minutes?" Kyle asked daringly._

"_I dunno," Stan replied. He glanced up at the computer screen as it began loading. "Why do you have a picture of Brian Boitano on your computer screen, dude?"_

"_He's my hero, of course." He turned his head as he caught a pouting Stan frowning at him. "Come on, Stan… You know not even someone as amazing as you can compete with him."_

"_What'd I have to do to prove you wrong?"_

"_I dunno," Kyle said with a frown. He glanced back to his computer to type in his password. "What does a first kiss feel like?"_

"_How should I know?"_

"_You've kissed Wendy before."_

"_So? It was only for like two seconds. Besides, haven't you kissed Bebe before, too?"_

"_In a dare, maybe." The two remained still as silence set around them. "Kenny should be back by now."_

"_Maybe he's having a hard time finding it," Stan suggested, shrugging._

"_He probably doesn't even know what you want him to find," Kyle said, raising an eyebrow. "And now I think about it, how the hell does he know what to look for if you barely told him anything?"_

"_Uh…" His other eyebrow rose to match its partner. "Uh, I—" but just as he began making up an excuse Kenny poled his head through the door._

"_Can't find it," said Kenny, confirming Kyle's suspicions. "Stan, help me find it."_

"_All right, dude." He groaned as he removed his arms from Kyle, walking over to the door and shutting it behind him. Kyle wheeled his chair around to glance at the door, but it wasn't long until Kenny returned._

"_What's he getting?" Kyle asked curiously, tilting his head._

"_No idea," replied Kenny._

"_Bullshit."_

"_Aw come on, Kyle. Don't be too harsh." Kyle smiled, as he turned back to the computer, soon after growling at the failure of the desired page to load._

"_Why won't the damn thing—" but he doesn't finish. Instead Stan returned with the burst of the door opening. He was clearly hiding something behind his back, and he couldn't have made it any more obvious when he walked sideways around the bed to prevent Kyle from seeing the hidden object._

"_Close your eyes," Stan ordered as he came closer, but Kyle only shook his head._

"_Flowers."_

"_Not cool," muttered Stan as he pulled out the bouquet. Kyle stared in awe as the raven-haired boy passed the bouquet to him._

"_What… What are these?"_

"_Gardenias," Stan replied, pulling out a small label from his pocket to confirm._

"_It looks like a bridal bouquet," Kenny said with a laugh. "You aren't proposing to him, are you?"_

"_Not really," Stan replied, hazarding glances at his boyfriend. "But you never know when this moment will come back again."_

"_You sure we're gonna last that long?" Kyle asked quietly, but Stan only placed a finger to his mouth._

"_Don't say that, dude," Stan said, gazing into the Jewish boy's green eyes. "If you say we won't, we never will."_

"_So what do you want me to say?" Kyle asked as Stan took him into his arms. Yet somehow even then he had already been expecting that cliché answer… But still, no matter how cliché it was, it would always sound pleasant to his ears._

"_Say we'll not fail each other," Stan said over Kyle's shoulder. "Say this love's gonna last forever." And as Kyle glanced at a smiling Kenny over Stan's shoulder he couldn't help but close his eyes and smile…_

_Indeed, that had been his best birthday yet._

* * *

Check out my random oneshots... I think I posted at least seven over the past three days. 

Random Review Replies:  
**Greyhound Master **(I'm getting a lot of people who don't like it. But now that you've said so, I really need to get to my own essay... which was assigned two weeks ago, and I still haven't started. I'm glad to see that you haven't abandoned this yet). **Lumina Lin **(Well, well, don't go killing yourself just to review the next chapter! I mean, I'm a review whore, but I don't want you dead or anything just because you wanna review, hehe). **Flabz** (OMG your longest review yet! But really, I don't have much to say that I haven't told you, though after I'm done with the random replies I'll make that point out more clearly). **Forevastyle** (Damnit woman! Finish that damn story! I need chapter 2 sooooooooo badly! And hey, wanna do a joint fic?).

Flabz made an interesting point about how this story, up to this point presumably, **moves too slow**. That, however, was intended. I'm not sure how many people that read this have actually taken an English class that studies and analyzes literature, but... I purposely made these chapters slow because in Kyle's perspective that's how everything feels, as if the end of it is never gonna come. Of course, now that he's done with Stan for now the weight's gone and it feels like normal time once more.

I hope I haven't confused anyone... Please _review_!

- Zak -


	13. Still Frame

Allusions from a flashback ten chapters ago are in this chapter... If you forget what that flashback said go back and read.

* * *

_Is it not human tendency to treasure things?  
Do we not try placing some level of significance in everything we see?  
A flower, a letter, a kiss…  
Do we not put some value into these things?  
Do we yearn to cling onto our past?_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Thirteen**

"_Kyle… Kyle… Wake up, dude!" The said boy groaned and rolled over, slapping his alarm clock once. "It's not your alarm clock…"_

"_Five more minutes, Ma."_

"_What the hell, dude?—I don't _really_ sound like your mom, do I?" The Jewish boy sighed, rubbing his eyes so he could properly see the person he was talking to._

"_Sorry, Stan… I'm not quite awake, yet."_

"_No kidding." Kyle grumbled as he helped himself off his bed, walking over to his closet as Stan watched him. "Come on, dude!—I said to wake up at eight!"_

"_Gimme some slack," Kyle protested, stepping out of his pajamas. "It's not normal waking up this early on a Saturday morning."_

"_That's why you have an alarm clock," said Stan; "which, by the way, rang about thirty minutes ago."_

"_Oh." The both of them could hear the wonderful sounds—or absence of sounds—downstairs, since it was still even too early for Mrs. Broflovski to be awake. "Stop staring."_

"_Hm?" asked Stan, tilting his head curiously to the accusation. "At what?"_

_Kyle grunted. "You know damn well what you're staring at. I don't have to explain it to you, do I?"_

"_Please do," Stan said cheekily, smirk wide upon his face._

"_Whatever, dude." For the next few minutes Stan found himself humming a catchy tune while Kyle continued to get dressed. Soon after he began tapping his feet impatiently, followed shortly by the rapid glances around his room—all up to the point where he could barely wait any longer._

"_We're only going to the amusement park," Stan reminded him as he groaned in utter annoyance. "Can we _please_ get going already?"_

"_Geez, we're a bit impatient…" And as Kyle stepped out of the closet he looked toward Stan. "This good enough?"_

"_Of course. Now let's get the fuck outta here." The next few minutes were spent quietly trying to leave the house, and although Kyle could've sworn his mother had awoken from Stan's accidental slamming of the front door he didn't care so much._

_The amusement part was a small way outside South Park, which meant that Stan would have to drive a longer distance than he was used to driving. The playing radio saved the two from any silent moments, and it wasn't long before the two arrived at their desired destination._

"_Let's go," Stan said, turning the engine off. This would make the two boy's second date, and it was pretty noticeable how the two had changed between then and now. The way the two walked closer to each other proved that they had already gone over that border of nervousness, even though they still weren't ready to hold hands in public._

'_It's fun hiding,' Stan had reasoned, and that had been enough for Kyle. In a way it _was_ fun hiding their relationship from their parents, though he knew that one day he'd probably have to tell them—if they hadn't yet caught him by that time. _

"_Try to enjoy yourself while you're here," said Stan once they had gotten inside._

"_Of course," said Kyle, smiling. "Come on, dude! I'm feeling for a rollercoaster right now."_

"_Aw, come on… I have a weak stomach."_

"_I thought you got over that, already?"_

"_No, dude! I stopped puking on people I liked. I still have a horrible stomach."_

"_Fine, just wait for me, then." For a moment Stan stood dumbfounded as he found himself holding all of Kyle's possessions, but as he blinked and saw Kyle walking toward the queue line he called the boy's name."_

"_No way, dude! I'm coming with you!"_

"_You sure, dude?"—Stan nodded at the question, though inside he had been seriously debating the issue._

"_I don't wanna make you ride something by yourself," he said with a smile._

_A half hour later, however, Stan had been saying something entirely different._

"_Get me a trash can…" Stan pleaded as they left the attraction. Around him the few satisfied customers crazy enough to wake up that early were walking out with smiles on their faces, but as Kyle helped his friend out the exit Stan found himself lurching forward every other step._

"_Aw, dude! Don't puke on me!"—several heads turn._

"_But I like you, so therefore you are obligated to be puked on at some point."—more heads turn._

"_I thought you said you got over that already?"_

"_I did, but it was a good enough threat. Now get me the damn garbage bin."_

"_You can't just pick it up, dude! Go walk over to one yourself; I wanna look at the photos from the ride." Stan sighed, reluctantly leaving Kyle's side to find something to reel over. Kyle smiled at the sight and walked over to the small photo booth beside the rollercoaster's exit, glancing at the small screen to see his picture. "No way," Kyle muttered aloud. "Did he…?" But as he craned his neck upward he knew there was no denying it. Why hadn't he felt it, though…?_

"_I'll buy picture number 023," Kyle said to the lady at the counter and she nodded, doing the job that Kyle didn't want to know about and the one she was hired to do._

"_Here you are," she said, handing it to him in a small frame. "Have a nice day, and enjoy the rest of your visit!"_

"_Thanks." The Jewish boy smiled, looking around as he walked away. Where had that boy gone? Despite it only being ten in the morning there were still many people around him, and as he scanned all their varying faces he couldn't find the raven-haired visage he was most familiar with._

"_There you are," said a voice suddenly from behind him, and a hand clamped to his shoulder caused Kyle to jump in surprise._

"_Feeling better?" Kyle asked and Stan nodded in reply._

"_Yeah. I gave the janitor a job to do, though…" Stan chuckled as Kyle looked at him sternly._

"_Okay… You know, you wouldn't have puked if you didn't try kissing me while on a damn rollercoaster."_

"_I did no such thing!" Stan protested, but a mere flash of a purchased on-ride photo and Stan looked away in shame. "Okay, maybe I did, but…"_

"_I'd rather have my first real kiss while I'm not a hundred feet in the air, thanks." He laughed as the two began walking away from the ride. The other roller coasters in the park looked appealing to Kyle, but with a nausea-stricken boy beside him Kyle was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to fulfill that fantasy. "This isn't bad of a second date."_

"_Yeah," said Stan, taking a side glance at the boy. "Maybe because this time you aren't in such a hurry to do your Calculus homework."_

"_Whatever, dude." Stan laughed as they continued to walk towards their unknown destination, and as they both looked on ahead Kyle fidgeted with the object in his hand. "At any case… do you want this? Maybe to celebrate your failed victory or something…" Stan turned to him and frowned as Kyle handed him the picture._

"_Sure," Stan muttered, taking it into his hands. And as the two proceeded once more he smiled—his expression was priceless._

- - - - - - - - - -

The last time this happened had been in high school, I'm sure.

"Hello, dear," I can hear my mother say in the foyer. I'm eating some sort of breakfast in the kitchen with Ike, who seems ready to go to classes… or maybe work. Either way, he's got a pad of paper and a pen beside him, and the sight of it makes me frown—who needs that while eating breakfast?

"Oh, I see." Five seconds later my mother pokes her head through the doorframe and meets my gaze. "Kie-yole, hurry up and finish your breakfast, dear. Stan wants to talk to you when you're done."

The last time Stan's entered my house at eight in the morning without my knowing had been in high school, I'm sure.

I quickly finish my mom's previously-approved breakfast and rush off, leaving the bowl on the table. True enough Stan's still standing at the door, dressed entirely in shades of grey. He smiles when he sees me, and the only thing I can do is to give him a much more platonic smile in return.

I think he says something afterward, but I can't hear him because my mom's screaming at me from the kitchen for not placing my empty bowl in the sink. Thankfully he knows sign language, which doesn't depend on how loud it is outside, and he merely repeats himself so I can understand what he's said. _Can I talk to you?_

_Here?_

_Outside, I guess_. I nod, holding a finger up that asks him to wait. I quickly change into something more decent, and as I sprint back downstairs he opens the door for me.

Once we're outside my house he resumes. "Have you heard about this reunion thing Bebe's putting together?" I suppose he doesn't know that I'm partially involved in the matter, but I decide on not telling him.

_Yeah, I heard about it. Why?_

"Just wondering," he replies, and I frown. I suppose Bebe's already begun contacting our old classmates… "Do you know how she's choosing the people invited?—like, is it everyone who graduated in our class, or just people that she knew well?"

I shrug. _No idea, sorry._ Only, I do know.

And then it hits me why we're having this conversation.

Stan confirms my suspicions. "Everyone I've talked to so far has told me they've been invited, yet for some reason Craig said he wasn't invited." I only shrug again, looking away. Somehow, I'm not finding it hard at all to hide what I've done.

_I only found out myself yesterday. I'm sure she just hasn't gotten around to it, yet_.

"Bebe told me the details two days ago," Stan says. "I'm sure she should've told Craig by now…"

Again, all I can do is shrug. _I don't know. Why don't you ask her, since she's the one organizing this thing_?

"I might," Stan said, heaving a sigh. "I just wanted to see if you might've known something about it, since she did say part of the occasion was to welcome you home and stuff."

_No, I don't_. He sighs as he looks toward his car, and likewise I glance back at the door to my house. _I guess I'll be going back, now_.

"Wait," he says, and as I turn around he looks away. "Would you like to… to join us later today?"

_Us?_

"Craig and I. We're going to hang around later today, and he said he wants to get a chance to know you better. I've already told him about you not being able to talk, so you won't have to go through all that again." He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks to his feet as he speaks, and as he does this I'm frowning. I'm pretty sure he's only asking me because Craig's asked him to, and that perhaps otherwise he would never have made the offer.

_Sure_. And without telling my parents I climb into Stan's car we drive away. It's a silent ride once more; even if I had the ability of talking to him I'm sure it would've been silent nevertheless. He doesn't even turn on the radio, and as a result we keep landing ourselves in pits of silence. I don't mind as much except for the fact that each silence is increasingly more awkward, and now I'm just dying for some noise to distract us.

As it turns out, though, Craig doesn't live in the same house as Stan's, yet. His car's already parked outside Stan's house when we arrive, and he's parked in such a difficult manner that Stan takes about three minutes to properly park. Once he does park, though, we're both quite quick in entering the house. On both the outside and the inside the house looks exactly the same. It's the same color of paint, the same furniture—I would've thought his parents would've taken all of it with them.

"I'm back, Craig!" Stan hollers throughout the house, but all he gets at first are the echoes of his own voice. I frown for a moment—that _had_ been his car outside, right?—but it's only about fifteen seconds later when his actual reply comes.

"In your room!" he calls back as Stan flashes me a nervous smile, allowing me to go up the stairs first.

I forget to skip the creaking step.

Stan overtakes me at the top of the stairs, rushing forward to knock on his bedroom door. "Craig?" he calls through the door, and I find myself frowning at this scene. It seems familiar…

"The door's unlocked," Craig says from the other side. He turns to me, and once again he lets me go through first. For some reason I'm half-expecting to see the back of Stan's head when I enter, but I quickly remember Stan's behind me at the door.

"I brought Kyle with me," Stan said, shutting the door behind him.

I nod and allow my hand to be taken into his outstretched one. "I'm Craig… You _do_ remember me, right?"—I'm not entirely stupid, much to what everyone thinks. Of _course_ I remember who everyone is; it's not like I flush my brain out when I move states. Not to mention the fact that he already asked me that question at the restaurant when he rudely interrupted us, of course I would still know who he was. "What're you doing in South Park?"

I really wish I had brought Ike's pad of paper. Instead, I merely shrug my head to imply uncertainty.

"You don't know?" he asks, reaffirming my assumptions. "That's cool… My job's to plan really important events in South Park… Like weddings, for example."

"He's fairly bad at it," Stan adds, and all he gets is a middle finger from his boyfriend. "I think I told you I'm a nurse already, right?"

I nod, shuddering as unnoticeably as I can—you have to admit, Stan in a nurse's uniform…

I think Craig's got a similar reaction. "Sexy bastard."

I shoot a glare at the boy from the corner of my eye, and I hope he doesn't notice it. And then, as I look back at Stan, I ask him: _I assume you're a nurse because you wanted to take care of people, right?_

"Yeah," Stan replied, receiving a confused expression from Craig.

"What the bloody hell are you—?"

"I've told you already," Stan muttered, averting the slightly taller man's gaze. "As a child I had this want of helping people out, and that's why I ended up being a nurse." Craig merely sighs, turning to me to give his own glare.

"Oh, that reminds me," he says as he lies on the bed. "That reunion that's happening in a couple of days… I'm coming anyway."

I frown, looking at Stan, and Stan takes the initiative to explain.

"He's not in charge of anything," Stan says, shaking his head. "Bebe's doing all of that."

"Oh… If you see _her_, tell her _I'm_ going, then." I'm cursing in my head, slightly dejected at my failed plan—whatever that had been. "I'm hungry, Stan."

"Can't do much about it," Stan said, shrugging. "Go downstairs and get something to eat."

"Fine," Craig says, standing up. He pauses in front of Stan for several moments, but I don't even need to look at him to tell at what he does next. A large sound of flesh on denim jeans and Craig's chased by Stan out of the room.

And then… I'm by myself. Merely _being_ in Stan's room makes me want to cry, though, if seeing Craig in the lucky position I had once been in hadn't been enough. I'm positive those bed sheets are the same ones he had on the day I left—given that he's probably washed them between then and now—and as I step forward to feel the material I'm even more positive I'm right. It's almost as soft as his skin had been… I remember being entangled in it, those flowing sheets wrapped around Stan's naked legs and my own. But it's not only the later parts of our relationship I remember from this room alone; I had spent countless nights crashing here, mainly because I had been locked out of my own house; and every time we went somewhere, per say a date, we'd always come back here to relax until the night came.

And when I turn to his dresser I heave a heavy sigh, having even more of an urge to hold back tears. This room's been poisoned with the presence of Craig so suddenly, and even though in my memories this room holds so much significance in my life—the day I told him the news of my acceptance at Harvard, the day I left him—there's almost nothing save the bed sheets that even remotely suggest that I once existed here.

There had been a picture atop his dresser once—a picture of me and him on a rollercoaster, with him goofily trying to kiss my cheek—but it's no longer there.

* * *

Short chapter... sorry. And **yay** I've reached the **40, 000** word marking! 

I want new readers. As much as I adore my reviewers, it's always nice to hear from new people. I think maybe... a one new reviewer requirement for this chapter?

I think either this next chapter or the one after, a reunion will take place.

In appreciation for my reviewers and all other South Park writers, every chapter or two I'll advertise someone's story. Right now, because she simply amazes me and this story is beyond incredible, I want you to read **Brat-Child3's I Feel So**. Seriously, go read.

**Random Review Replies!  
PP. Bunny** (Yeah, I hate being sick. I'm not as sick as I was Wednesday, but I have a congested nose still and it sucks like being forced to eat a Cartman on a stick. But I hope you feel better!). **Lumina Lin** (Yes! Thank you! Someone appreciates me being slow. But it will slightly pick up in pace from here. And yeah, when I watched the movie hours before now I have to agree with you. The Mole's house... You know, as of now I don't have him in this fic, but maybe I can squeeze a cameo for him in here somewhere...). **Flabz** (oh wow! Another moderately lengthy review! I'm so psyched; all my other stories you gave me like a line and that's it. I tend to view longer reviews as having more appreciation for it, and so seeing you write more makes me happy!). **cjmarie** (You came back! Yay! And I'm sorry I haven't review your awesome blackmailed oneshits (hehe... to anyone else reading, I have to explain that this is an inside joke and that it isn't meant to be insulting) yet, but I will soon! and yeah, I needed to fit some comic relief in somewhere, haha). **Greyhound Master** (I heart you; must I say more? But I'm glad you're catching onto the symbolic stuff in here, and that at least my strained efforts aren't going to waste or anything). **Phoenix II** (I really wish I had made Kyle "converse" with Wendy when I had used that line... but it didn't work out. But yesh, I loved that line so much in the movie, lol).

You know, writing Kyle mute can be such a pain in the ass sometimes... but I'm only doing it because you guys seen to like the idea, and because I'm a review whore and this story's giving me a crapload of success. At any rate, do as you please with this chapter.

-Zak-


	14. Maybe Puking Would've Been Better

My ignorance in this field is why this chapter sucks.

* * *

_It's quite easy to place masks in front of the faces we want to conceal.  
We can be happy when we're really mad;  
we can be gregarious when we're really bashful.  
But when we lose control over ourselves  
that true face will find a way to surface_

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Fourteen**

"Are you ever gonna get a car again?" Stan asks me as he drives me home. We had spent almost the entire trip in utter silence—practically it _had_ been the entire trip—and Stan had only posed the ice-breaking question when he had pulled into my road. "I mean, it's not like you're incapable of driving…"

I wait for him to park in the driveway before I reply. _Soon, maybe_.—have you ever wondered why you park in a driveway and drive in a parkway?

Thankfully I'm the only one who can hear my random burst of thought. "You were so happy about being able to drive, but now you barely do it." For a split second I want to remind him that I was _not_ happy when I had to wait an entire day at the DMV on my birthday just to get my license but I choose not to.

Instead, I shrug and exit his car. _I'll see you tomorrow at the reunion?_

"It's _that_ soon?" he asks in disbelief, and I nod. "Damn, where've I been…? I told Craig it was two days from now, I think. I'll remember to tell him." I merely sigh as I turn away. Maybe I'll find something else to do at that reunion than watch Stan…

"Hey, Kyle?" I immediately turn on the spot to face Stan once more. "When you get time, read today's newspaper."

_Why?_

"I dunno, just do it. I think the third page is particularly interesting." I shrug and nod, turning away to my house to hear his car drive off in the distance. South Park's newspaper's too small to have any sections—all of the sports, local, national, and classified news go in one large stack of papers called the South Park Gazette.

I barely even notice the sofa in the living room when I'm confronted by my mother. "Kie-yole Brof_lov_ski! Where have you _been_?" I step back in recoil, my teenage days coming back to me. Perhaps my mom forgets the fact that I'm a fully-grown man and am capable of taking care of myself…

Though, if there's one proven thing she's forgotten, it'd be the fact that I can't respond to her.

"Your father and I were worried, Bubee. Don't forget to tell someone next time you leave." I frown but nod, walking past her. Maybe one day…

As I'm about to enter my room I notice Ike's room a hallway across. The door's partially open, and inside metal music is blaring out sound waves at intense frequencies—ah, my nerdy physics references. But regardless how educated I am or how idiotic I sound, I decide that wasted power (amount of work over time) is still power (amount of force multiplied by its velocity), and that it'd probably be a good idea to shut it off while he's not here.

With a barrier gone his music almost deafens me when I open his door.

The first thing I plan on doing is turning off that radio of his. My eyes scan the room while his music plays, and it's only now that I'm reminded my brother's gone Goth or emo or whatever it is he's become. A bed, some posters, thrown clothes on the floor and a bunch of scattered CD's, but nothing that remotely resembles a radio.

And then it hits me: a computer.

It's got a screensaver playing as I move the mouse, which completely disintegrates the water and fish that were once there. I quickly exit the music player that's currently running, and immediately my ears get the relief they deserve. I'm thinking I should go to my room and take a nap since there's nothing better to do, or at least do something more productive in the silence of my house.

But no, I don't.

Instead my eye catches something quite interesting that's minimized at the bottom of his computer. I know I shouldn't invade in my brother's life, but… it seems so intriguing, and my human instincts take the better of me.

_Speaking with Hands_ is what the document's called.

I frown at the sight of it—what's this about? As I scan the document quickly, scrolling down the two-page word document, I can tell it's some sort of article—though at the bottom there's an incomplete sentence.

Maybe he's writing this?

_Read today's newspaper_, Stan's words remind me as I think of articles. I'm sure there really isn't a light bulb over my head, but it really feels like I do as I rush to find a copy of the paper. _I think the third page is particularly interesting_.

And as I stare at the third page of the South Park Gazette I find myself smiling.

_That's_ why Ike always has a pad of paper.

- - - - - - - - - -

_Hello._ He's at my door again.

_Hi_. I suppose it's a bit strange how I don't know how formal this reunion is supposed to be considering that, in Bebe's eyes, I'm partially organizing it. While I'm in my usual attire—jeans and an orange coat with green gloves—Stan's wearing a white dress shirt topped off with a black bow. I feel a habitual urge to compliment him at that moment, but an equally formal Craig is glaring at me with slit eyes and a weapon sprung to launch.

Instead I smile and step outside my door, shutting the door behind me as my mom tries telling me something I don't want to hear. We're riding in Craig's car, as it turns out; and as I clutch the piece of paper in my hand I tap Stan's shoulder.

He turns to face me, still moving in the direction to Craig's car. "Yeah?"

Over Stan's shoulder I can see Craig's warning glare. _Directions_.

"Oh," is his reply, carefully taking it into his hands. He turns back around to face the direction he's walking in, which is a good thing since otherwise he would've run into my mom's car.

"You get back," Craig says as he climbs into the driver's seat. "Stan gets shotgun." It's not as if it'd be surprising news; I think I've gotten Craig to hate me. Nevertheless I comply, opening the backdoor of his car. "So where's this place we're going to?"

"Let's see," says Stan, unfolding the sheet of paper I've previously given him. "_McKenzie's Dinner Hall_ is what the place's called."

"Dinner hall?" Craig asks, and everyone else nods. "How interesting."

"You think we're overdressed, then?" Stan asks, turning to me as Craig pulls out of the driveway. I merely shrug in reply, pointing to my own clothes. Not the most impressive attire, I'd have to admit.

"Whatever, Stan," says Craig, driving at least twenty miles over the speed limit—we've only just left my house, and the speed limit's barely even thirty. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

"Yeah," replies Stan. There's a moment of quiet between us before he continues. "Who do you think's gonna be there?"

"Bebe, you, me, Kyle…"

"Other than them, I mean."

Craig pauses for a second. "Who else went to our school, anyway?"

I smile as Stan shakes his head. "Dude! You don't even remember our former classmates? You don't remember Wendy or Butters or Clyde or Tweek or… or Cartman or Kenny or… or…" I nod at each name he lists, a mental image surfacing in my mind at the sound of each person's name. "…Token or Jimmy or… or Timmy…?"

"Nope," Craig says dismissively. "Although I think that Tweek kid seems familiar."

"You have a horrible memory," Stan mutters as he playfully punches Craig in the side.

Craig grabs Stan's wrist and smirks. "I know." I try occupying myself as they continue throwing back pointless sentences a row in front of me. I must've seen this scenery at least a thousand times in my life already having traveled this road many times before. Going to Cartman's new house I went this way; going to the amusement park I went this way. And now, I'd be going this way once more to this reunion.

Craig's hand remains around Stan's wrist.

Another half hour of torture and we've finally arrived. As it turns out it's a very large building, much larger than any of us would've imagined; but it's a building composed of many halls, our event taking only one of those rooms. There are already a lot of people there once we find the room we're meant to be in, and immediately when Bebe sees me she rushes over to greet me.

"Kyle!" she exclaims, pulling me into a hug. She's wearing a dazzling red dress, and even though I still haven't gotten used to her brown hair something tells me she looks better now than she would in blonde. "Oh wait… you _still_ have a sore throat?"

I nod, smiling—I think it's an apologetic smile, but it could also be a smile initiated out of amusement. I'm not sure how she's still buying that story of Kenny's…

"Kyle!" comes another voice, and as I turn my heart sinks—Wendy.

"Hey Wendy," says Bebe, smiling. "I think we're almost all here."

"I think Clyde and Tweek are the only ones not here," she replies before turning to me once more. "Kyle! It feels as if I haven't seen you in forever! How are you? Do you still have that cold of yours?—or was it a sore throat? I don't remember. Though, I guess you wouldn't be able to reply to me if you still had that illness thing, huh. Hey, is Stan here? Did you come with him? You guys seem pretty close still, I'm actually quite impressed! I think Bebe and I grew apart when we went to rivaling universities, but we got over that eventually.—oh look! Stan _is_ here!" And as she spots Stan next to Craig she leaves me and Bebe in silence.

I frown nervously as Bebe chuckles. "Try talking to her on the phone. It takes five minutes to tell her you have to leave." I nod, smiling to show her my opinion toward her statement, and as she sighs I look to my feet. "Hey, you aren't very dressed up… Jeans and a jacket?"

I don't have a pad of paper handy, nor a pen. I'm left with no choice but to shrug.

She shrugs as her response. "It wasn't in the invite, so I guess you're excused. But if you want you can borrow one from—"

"WHAT?" comes an exasperated exclamation from Wendy; "are you _serious_?"

"Yes, yes," Craig's voice comes next, and I bite my lip at what he says next. "Stan and I _are_ in a relationship."

"That's such surprising news!" Wendy exclaims, and Bebe and I smile at each other—here comes another Wendy rant. "I mean, when I broke up with you a while back"—she looks at Stan—"I remember hearing how hard you took it, but… I didn't think you'd resort to a guy or anything… Not that I think that's bad or anything"—she shakes her hands in the air defensively—"oh no!—I don't mind at all. But I'm still rather surprised it was with you, Craig! I mean personally, if Stan were gay—though he is—I would've expected him to get it on with Kyle or something. I mean"—she looks at me now, and suddenly I've never had such an urge to want to disappear—"you two were so close at times I could've sworn you were holding hands in the cafeteria. Not that I was watching you or anything"—she's turned to Stan once more, though those blue eyes of his don't leave mine—"I mean, I broke up with you because I didn't want you, so obviously I wouldn't be—"

"Uh, Wendy?"—Stan's attempt to get her to stop.

"—watching you or anything, because I mean a person just doesn't break up with someone only to want them again. But no, no. I clearly—"

"Wendy?"—Bebe's attempt.

"—did _not_ expect to see you with Craig, Stan! But I guess if you two—"

"Hey," says a voice in my ear so suddenly that I jump at the spot. "Sorry if I scared you." I frown at him, but as I struggle to tell him something he presents me with a pen and a pad of paper. "I knew you'd need it."

_Thank you_, I write, smiling once I show it to him.

"No problem." Kenny replies, glancing over his shoulder. "So… shall I be your Superman?"

I give him a questioning look.

"Well… unless you'd rather not be rescued by Miss Digression over there…" I glance at Wendy, who's now talking about learning to accept the abnormality of Stan dating Craig—maybe I should listen to that speech…

On second thought, no. I accept Kenny's offer and leave that place as fast as I can.

- - - - - - - - - -

It's quite fun watching people who're drunk.

Take Kenny, for example. As a sober person he's quite perverted and wild as it is, but when he's intoxicated… Wow. I remember him once telling me he's only liked girls before, but… Maybe it's the fact that he's drunk but seeing him grind poor Butters doesn't plead his case.

At least he's got Wendy behind him, who's equally as tipsy as he is. Earlier that evening, between my arrival and her entering the dance floor yet still under the influence, she could barely slur a single sentence properly, and I remember cracking up on the inside at the complete reversal. Although, her demeanor hasn't changed _that_ much, because she still seems to be the boob-job whore I remember her to be throughout high school.

Perhaps that's another advantage to being mute—making snide comments without the fear of being heard.

I'm beginning to think I'm the only one sober here, now. Personally I would never drink, mainly because of my past experiences with alcohol that hadn't been so good. But as it seems, no one else follows my philosophy.

Even Cartman's drunk, and the mere sight of him giving a lap dance to Heidi scares the crap out of me. Poor girl; I think she's intoxicated too or else she'd never allow such a thing to happen. However, seeing Cartman reminds me of what he did in regards of getting me back together, and it also reminds me of my self-willed obligation to help him.

Though as I look from Cartman, who's just begun giving Heidi a hideous strip tease, to Kenny, who's being sandwiched on the dance floor, I'm beginning to wonder if Cartman really wants to see his desires in real life.

Bebe's red dress catches my attention as I swapped glances from Kenny to Cartman, and she's dancing with Clyde in a corner of the floor. At least their dancing is coordinated, a dance that actually makes sense to the music playing—why the hell would you grind to country music?

Ask Kenny, I suppose.

I'm surprised I haven't found Stan anywhere yet, though I'm not sure if I should try finding him or not. I'd probably just get jealous and do something I shouldn't do… To no surprise as well, I don't see Craig anywhere, either.

As Token joins the Grind Train from Wendy's end I do spot Stan's unmistakable black hair—as if black hair is _so_ uncommon—and it isn't long before he comes into my line of sight.

He's fucking gorgeous.

And I know I probably shouldn't say or think of things like that, mainly because Craig's dancing beside him and I'm sure he'd put me out like a light in less than a heartbeat. But I can't help it. The two of them aren't grinding much as Kenny is, nor are they in tune to the music like Bebe and Clyde, but they are still quite close to each other. Every time Craig brings Stan closer to him my eyes grow wide, which sends my imagination through the roof.

I'm not entirely sure if I've ever danced with Stan, but I'm quite positive my body's aching to be in Craig's position. It's been so long since I've touched that body of his… My fingers tingle every time Craig curls a hand around his waist, tugging lightly on a belt loop—I've good eyes. When Craig looks into Stan's crystal-blue eyes I find myself unable to blink. When Craig whispers into Stan's ear I can feel my tongue longing to lick that area of skin it hasn't felt in so long; when Stan clumsily whispers back my ear longs for the hot breath that once sprayed its warmth there.

"Argh! Jesus!"—and with that I'm suddenly pulled away from my stalker-ish gaze at Stan. I try my best to smile at Tweek, despite the fact that he's completely diverted me from what I had been doing. "Kyle! I think they're all possessed!"

I look at him curiously, hoping that my asking of him to explain doesn't really require me to write my question down.

"They're all attacking each other!" Tweek cries out once more—I wonder if he gets out much; I'm sure by now he's gotta have _some_ clue as to what's going on… especially since he's at least twenty-five. "_And_ they keep attacking each others' necks! ARGH! THEY'VE ALL BEEN TURNED INTO VAMPIRES!"

I really want to tell him that he's wrong and that he's merely thinking about the situation too hard, but I don't feel like it—this is too funny as it is.

My lack of a response, however, scares him. "Argh! Why won't you answer me?! Have you been possessed, too?" I shake my head violently, but he doesn't see me; instead, he gets up from his seat and runs away like a mad man.

Poor Tweek. But I don't really worry too much about it—I have the sudden urge to watch Stan again. Even though part of my brain—maybe the more logical side—is telling me I shouldn't do it, I decide to look anyway.

But neither of the boys is there.

I search madly for the pair. Kenny's still sandwiched between Butters and Wendy, and the latter has Token behind her still. Cartman's now proceeded in gyrating against Heidi—I shield my eyes to see as little of the action as I can—and Bebe's taking another glass of champagne down.

Still no Stan.

"You're looking for me?" asks a voice, but I don't even need to turn around as Stan stumbles and falls onto the chair beside me.

_Hi_.

"What the hell are you doin' with your hands?" Yep, Stan's drunk… doesn't even recognize sign language, anymore… "Wanna dance?"

Initially I shake my head, but as he frowns at me my mind begins having second doubts. Why _wouldn't_ I want to dance with him?—but he's not in his right mind, and I shouldn't be taking advantage of him…

"You can't resist someone like me," he slurs, struggling to stand in front of me.

And you know he's right: How can I _not_ resist someone as sexy as he is?

"Why won't you talk?" he asks me, and I merely shrug. "Come on, K-K-Ky…"—damn, he can't even pronounce my name right—"Have a dance?"

But at that point he loses his balance, and as he gives an outburst of some slurred noise he falls on top of me. I shield myself as he holds onto the chair above me, and for a second I'm scared he'll knock the chair over. He manages not to, though, and as he chuckles he slides down the chair and my body until we're face to face.

"Dance," he says simply, even daring to lick my lips with his tongue.

I shake my head. He's Craig's… I shouldn't be using Stan.

"Fine… I'll dance without you…" He moves away, and I find my body jutting forward at the loss of contact—apparently my body's all for taking advantage of the raven-haired boy.

But it's not long before it gets what it wants once more—a drunken Stan dancing alone, apparently, doesn't mean a solo on the dance floor.

I promise you, what Stan does next is much better than what Cartman had planned.

I know I should stop Stan but I can't bring myself to do it. His hips are moving in such a way that I can't take my eyes off of them, and I find myself staring at the dress shirt that's slowly loosening itself from the belt's hold, creamy skin slowly being exposed. He moves his hands down to his buckle, stripping it off of its loops in one fluid motion, and as he tosses it carelessly somewhere he pushes himself closer toward me.

I'm staring, I know, and I know I shouldn't be. Even as he teasingly unbuttons his shirt I still can't make myself stop him. Even when he erotically motions his hips in quite suggestive ways I can't get myself to stop him. Even when he lets his unbuttoned pants rest loosely on his waist I don't stop him.

Craig, where are you?—help me.

Stan loses his balance and falls on top of me again. I can feel his warm, sweat-dropped chest as it pushes down on my tear-stained cheek. He's drunk, he doesn't know what he's doing, and I know I need to make him stop. But I've missed these feelings so much, the way he's pressing himself on me, the way his skin feels on mine—I don't want to have to never feel this again.

I shut my eyes as he presses a knee between my legs. I need him to stop—for his sake, for my sake, for Craig's sake. I know only bad things will come out of this if this keeps up… But to take one moment of bliss over many moments of neutrality… To endure pain everlasting or to suffer a moment without his contact.

I push him off of me.

"What the—?" he begins, but I don't listen to him. The music blares louder than Ike's computer as I walk by the DJ, through the doorway, past the hanger of coats, and out of the building. The nighttime weather makes my tears feel cold as they run down my cheek, but I know I still have to endure these cruel tears for the two hours it'll take to walk myself home.

It really isn't _that_ fun watching drunken people, I decide.

* * *

Review to make my life just a small bit happier? You have no idea how even the slightest thing will make my day better. 

- Zak -

Out of curiosity... Did I do a better job with the drunk scene? I know I kinda butchered it in _Crystal Beyond the Horizon_'s chapter 14...


	15. Miscommunication in the Abyss

So I'm back... and it definitely hasn't been a month... Thank gosh this week's finally ended.

On a side note... **200 reviews! Two. Hundred.** You guys seriously amaze me.

* * *

_Once we have said a word we can never take it back.  
Once we commit an action we cannot undo it.  
There are many things we will do and later regret.  
Somehow, we must learn how to accept what we've done  
and move on._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Fifteen**

"_We aren't… _really_ boyfriends yet, are we?"_

_A confused face turned to Kyle's. "I think we are. Why wouldn't we be?"_

"_Well… no one's really asked anyone out yet…"_

"_I've asked you on two dates, already."_

"_Yeah, but…" Kyle's face flushed with embarrassment as Stan smiled at his confusion. "But, but… We're just two people who have a mutual liking… and stuff. You like me, and I like you. But we've never really… You know…"_

"_Would it help if we made this more official, then?" Stan asked, and before Kyle could blink twice he found Stan kneeling in front of him on the bed. Eyes stared into eyes and hands rested in hand as Stan mimicked a voice quite unlike his own. "Would you, Kyle Broflovski, take me, Stanley Marsh, as being your ever faithful boyfriend?"_

"_Yeah," Kyle said, laughing as Stan stood up from his kneeling position. However, his face thereafter confused him. "What?"_

"_Nothing, dude," said Stan, smiling. "You said we were just two boys who both happened to like each other, but now you've officially let me be your boyfriend."_

"_Oh."_

"_Doesn't make much of a difference, right?" Kyle shook his head as Stan laughed. "It really doesn't matter what we call it between ourselves, dude. All that really matters is that what we're experiencing is real."_

"_As opposed to it being false?"_

_Stan shook his head. "You know… like this being a dream. Even if we were friends I wouldn't mind not being boyfriends if it would still feel this way."_

"_Oh…" The room remained silent for some time after that, the silence being interrupted only once by someone dropping a glass cup downstairs. "Hey, Stan?"_

"_Yeah?"—Mrs. Broflovski's high-pitched shrills filled the air the moment he finished speaking—"What's up?"_

"_If we're in this relationship thingy… does that mean I have to tell you everything now?"_

"_Well, what d'you mean?" Stan asked._

_Kyle turned his gaze to his feet. "Well… like, do I have to confide in you, tell you what happens in my day… that kinda stuff?"_

"_You don't really _have_ to," said Stan, shrugging. "I… _think_ I know what you're talking about. You're pretty much talking about trust and how much you're obligated to share with me, and stuff?"_

"_I think so," Kyle replied, chuckling nervously. "I really don't quite know myself, anymore."_

"_Well…" Stan sighed, remaining silent while allowing the loud conversations of his mother and Ike to pass downstairs. "Really, I don't think that being your boyfriend makes you_ that_ obligated to tell me everything… I mean it'd be nice, sure. But I don't think my life should be yours."_

"_Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm cheating on you," said Kyle as Stan raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I'm not, obviously, because I'd never do something like that to you. But hypothetically… Would that be something I should tell you?"_

"_I dunno," Stan replied, frowning. "…I guess…? I think I'd be more comfortable knowing that you don't love me anymore than me thinking you still do."_

"_Oh." Kyle sighed as they remained in silence once more, though this time without the blessing of Mrs. Broflovski's loud lectures from the floor below._

"_How about you?" Stan asked._

"_Same, I guess." The two sighed, but before they could enter another quiet moment Kyle asked another question. "Still hypothetically speaking… Would you be willing to forgive me if I had cheated on you?"_

_Stan frowned as he searched for an answer. "Would you?"_

"_Would I forgive me?—no, not really."_

"_Would you forgive me if I did that," Stan corrected himself._

"_Oh." It was a rather touchy subject for a pair that had only been going out for three weeks—in Kyle's eyes for barely an hour—and as Stan raised his eyebrows expectantly at his friend Kyle the other boy could only shake his head and shrug. "I think I'd be able to."_

"_Really?"—it hadn't been the answer that Stan had expected, especially since few would. "Why?"_

"_I think, no matter what happens a kind person will always be able to forgive…"_

_Stan smiled nervously at the answer, shaking his head. "I admire you then… I would probably be too downcast to forgive someone…"_

"_Yeah." He stood up to stretch, completely forgetting that Stan had been standing the whole time, and as he stretched he found Stan watching him. Not that he cared, but it was just a bit strange to watch someone like that…_

_Kyle decided to ask and Stan had given a quick answer. "I dunno."_

"_Whatever, dude." He jumped on the spot several times, taking a deep sigh as he walked over to his closet. "Hey, Stan?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I may just seem like I'm spewing random questions today, but… How far in your relationship with Wendy were you when you first kissed her?"_

_Stan laughed. "Not too far in, actually. I think maybe the second or third day."_

"_Oh…"_

_Stan laughed yet again. "Are you complaining that I still haven't given you your first kiss, yet?"_

"_N-No…"_

_Stan laughed once more. "Yeah you are dude!"_

"_No, I'm—!" but Kyle never finished his sentence as he felt an arm wrap around his waist from behind. Before he knew it his skin was dosed with a quite pleasing breath of hot air, and as his eyes fluttered from the contact he felt a pair of lips place a scarring kiss on the back of his neck._

_And then, it was gone._

"_What the hell, dude!" Kyle exclaimed, though it had probably been his hormones reacting. "Why'd you stop?"_

"_You only wanted your first kiss," Stan said cheekily, smiling as he left the room._

_An unhappy Kyle growled as he chased after the raven-haired boy. "Goddamnit, Stan!—that _so_ doesn't count as a kiss!"_

_Kyle ignored the goofy look on Ike's face as they met at the foot of the stairs._

- - - - - - - - - -

"You wanna use my computer?" Ike asks me as I nod. "Now?"

I nod again. It's fairly late in the day—even coming home early still didn't prevent me from not sleeping in—and it happens to be a day where Ike's not out of the house. My parents aren't home, though, which means I wouldn't have to put up with them as much.

Ike glances at his computer as he frowns. "Sure, I guess." I smile and bow, showing him that I'm thankful, and as I take a seat at his computer he reaches over me to close some windows. Most of them are websites of bands, but there is a word document that's open—the same document I stumbled upon earlier, only there's more written in it.

"Here," says Ike, letting go of the mouse. "I need to leave the house for a while to catch up with someone. Think you can manage by yourself?" I give him the thumbs-up as he leaves.

I stare at the computer screenfor some time, even as I hear Ike's car drive into the distance. Originally I had intended to use the computer to help me find a car, but now that I'm seated in front of the computer I don't really feel like searching the web anymore. I really do need a car of my own, yes, but I don't have enough patience at the moment to do it.

Instead, as I scroll down the list of programs he has on his computer, I decide that logging into an instant messaging program is a better idea. I haven't signed in forever, as I didn't have a computer in Harvard; but as I think about it such a program makes communicating so much easier… I wouldn't even need to talk and I would be easily understood.

At least I know my password, which is almost impossible for me to forget: stanleymarsh. I hadn't really used the computer much as a kid and it had actually been Stan who made me talk to him on the computer whenever Shelley was hogging the phone line for herself. He had made my account for me, and when he had asked me to make a password I had told him to make one up for me.

Hence…

For some reason, as my buddy list loads, I get the impression that no one will be online. Sure it's late in the afternoon already, but most of the people I talked to in the past are probably still hung-over.

Of course, I'm wrong.

The second I can see my buddy list a screen pops out at me, and I'm greeted by a simple word.

_Hi._

It's so simple of a phrase, yet it sounds quite awkward. I'm more accustomed to a 'hello' or a 'hey'—though not recently—but 'hi' sounds restrained, almost. I'm half-expecting it to be Stan, but a quick glance over the person's name and I'm proven wrong again: Wendy.

I move my fingers to type a response, which comes much more easily than it would if I had written it the usual way on paper. _Hey Wendy_.

I suppose the one drawback to talking online is waiting for a response. I suppose that's how people feel about me whenever I write my own responses, but at least in those cases they can see me while I'm writing and they can get an idea of what I want to say before I'm done. Here, all I'm left with is a short "ToKeNsChIcK is typing…" notification.

I decide to look at who's online while I await an answer from her. As I suspected, most of them aren't online, and the majority of those that are have away messages on. Most of them refer to the reunion of last night, though Kenny's away message does mention being at Butters's house.

A good three minutes later I'm alerted of Wendy's response, and quite frankly I'm not surprised at what she's written.

_Hey Kyle! Wasn't that party great last night? It rocked so much! I don't remember half of it, of course, but that's always a good sign I had fun. So what time did you get home last night? Oh man, we were all so fucking drunk when we left… I think Stan kept asking where you were, though. Did you leave early? I don't remember seeing you at all, though of course my memory sucks. Oh wait, there was that one time at the beginning. How did you get home? Craig said he brought you there… Well, based on his memory, I mean, because I asked him this morning when he went to clean the vomit of his bedsheets. But really, did you like it?_

So… So even on an instant messaging program she still rants?—and she's only made one mistake in the whole thing, too.

My response is much simpler. _It was okay_.

And of course, that sends her into a whole new rant, so I decide to check the buddy list again. Token's not online, Craig's not online, Tweek's not online, Kenny's away, Bebe's not online, Clyde's away, Stan's not online.

Another screen pops up before I can continue looking down the list. I generally have a hard time trying to match screen names with the names of people, especially since it's been so long since I've used this thing; but it takes me a good two seconds to figure out the sender of this new instant message.

_What's goin' on, fag?_

_Look who's talking Cartman_, I reply, smirking from my side of the conversation.

_What the hell's that supposed to mean?_ I smiled as he continued to type. _You're the one who wants Stan!_

_Not anymore_, I reply, though it's partially true. _Besides, I'm sure there's a certain boy you're keeping an eye out for as well, am I right?_—in another message I add—_particularly one with blonde hair and blue eyes._

_You mean Kenny? _Cartman asks in his reply, and I'm slightly taken aback for a second that how he writes isn't how he speaks.

The "DamntheJews is typing…" notification appears, and it's a good thing that Wendy's message comes. I click out of Cartman's window to see what she's written, and just looking at the length of the reply makes my eyes cry for salvation.

_Okay? Just okay? It was crazy, Kyle! All the dancing, and the food and the music! I mean, we should be thanking Bebe for organizing it! And man, there were some great drinks too! I mean, obviously I drank plenty of it, but I think if you stayed longer you might've enjoyed it more. I guess you weren't really the partygoer, as I recall. I mean, I remember that one time Stan brought you to a party you sat on the couch the whole time. I mean sure, you were still drinking, but I don't think you ever left that couch._

And in another message after that one, Wendy had written… _Oh that reminds me! It's somewhere in the back of my mind but I remember Craig telling me that he's in a relationship with Stan! I mean, I totally wasn't expecting that! I mean, with you maybe, since you two are as tight as pretzel sticks and I wouldn't be surprised if you two were frequently that tight, if ya get what I mean. But—_

I don't bother reading the rest of it—I've heard her rants before. Instead, I look to Cartman's message, which had been waiting patiently for my reading for the good minute it took to read Wendy's message.

_I'm not sure where the hell you're getting the idea I like Kenny. I don't, Jewboy, and you'd better remember it._

I smile. I know he's wrong. Now just to find a way to prove it…

_That's the only reason why you've been helping me_, I reply to him, and as he's typing a message back to me I add, _ever since you helped me those years ago. You only told me to talk to Stan because Kenny asked you too. You only convinced me to talk to Stan a few weeks ago because Kenny told you about it. Even in your room you've got Kenny's name circled, with little stars everywhere beside it._

_I do NOT like him!_

_Just face it,_ I say as he types yet again. _You like him._

_That's just a coincidence!_ Cartman replies, but before I can say anything he signs off. Inside I'm smirking—it's always good to actually have the upper hand with Cartman. However, I don't rejoice too long, because it isn't long before a notification at the bottom of my screen pops up.

"QBMarsh410 has signed on."

But "410" doesn't represent his birthday, especially since his birthday isn't April 10tth –no, "410" refers to me.

And as I close my previous conversation with Cartman I begin trying to decide if I should talk to him. I wonder if he even remembers what he did last night, the reason I had left so early. I know he probably doesn't, but does he even remember how he tortured me? His breath… his hands… his knees…

Stan, as it turns out, talks to me first. _Kyle!_

It almost sounds like the olden days, when we'd always greet each other with each other's name. Only this time, I can barely tell that he's seven years older than he sounds. _Stan!_

_It's been so long since you've been on this thing, man_.

_Yeah._ I don't know what else to say… _I haven't talked to you in forever on here, either_.

And of course, he just _has_ to reply with the ever-so-cliché "_lol._"

My fingers remain poised to type as I bite my lip. Should I tell Stan…?

_You enjoy yourself last night?_ Stan asks.

_Not really_.

_Why not?_ I heave a sigh, looking around the room. Of course, no one's home, but I suppose it's out of habit that I do…

And then… I tell him. From watching him dance with Craig to him coming over, from him not remembering the fact I can't talk to him touching me. The whole time Stan doesn't make a response back, but I don't quite mind as I continue to type. What I'm saying is as unspecific as possible, though I think Stan pretty much gets the idea of how I feel.

Maybe not, because all he ends up saying is "_brb_."

Be right back. Of all things…

"Kyle?" says Ike, and as I turn around I quickly exit the window. "Ah, okay… I couldn't see what you were doing from the door." I sigh as I turn back to the computer. Stan's gone, Cartman's gone, and Wendy's stopped talking… No reason to be online now, really. "You don't have to sign off," Ike tells me, but I do it anyway.

I bet Stan doesn't even care.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_How long have you been waiting?" Kyle asked as he walked out of the airport alongside his father. It wasn't terribly late in the evening as they stepped outside as there had still been enough sunlight for them to see their path. The airport itself was fairly busy, though not as busy as Kyle would've thought; and as they walked down the rows of cars he tried looking for one he recognized._

"_I got here with the truck about midday yesterday," said Mr. Broflovski, smiling. "It wasn't too bad though. My flight isn't until tonight, anyway." Kyle nodded, continuing to walk through the parking lot as he carried a wheeled luggage behind him._

"_Rental car?" Kyle asked as they approached an unfamiliar car. _

_Mr. Broflovski nodded. "Yep. I'm thinking if you hadn't sold your car neither of us would need to take a flight. Drive the truck and the car, and I just drive the car home."_

"_The gas would be ridiculously high, though," said Kyle as he climbed in. He didn't bother changing the music his dad had already tuned the radio to previously even if he hated such music, but it didn't really matter as they made their way toward his dorm. _

"_I'm pretty such your mother's said this already, but I really will miss you."_

"_You sound like her, too," Kyle added with a smirk._

_Mr. Broflovski sighed. "Yes, yes, I know. But you have to understand what a parent has to go through when his son and daughter—"_

"_His or her," corrected Kyle._

"_That's not the point," replied Mr. Broflovski. "The point is that it's just a phase your mother and I are going through. We'll miss you, Kyle."_

"_I know," Kyle replied, staring at the road ahead of them. "I know."_

"_You'll call often?" his father asked as he made a turn. "Or at least, you'll contact us? I'm sure Sheila would greatly appreciate it."_

"_Yeah," Kyle said. "I told her I'd call her once a week or something like that."_

"_That's good." They spent their next moments in silence as Mr. Broflovski continued to drive. It was quite clear they were slowly approaching Kyle's dorm, having seen the signs everywhere leading to Harvard; and Kyle knew it wouldn't be long until he'd part ways from his father. "Hey, Kyle?"_

"_Yeah, dad?"_

"_You're thinking of becoming a lawyer, right?"_

"_Something like that," replied Kyle, smiling nervously. "I'm not sure what exactly it is I'm gonna be, yet."_

"_Okay," said his father, and at that moment he came to a halt in the parking lot of Kyle's dorm. "If you need it… I can help you get a position at the firm I work for… to get you started and such."_

"_Really?" Kyle asked, smiling as he spoke. "That'd be awesome, dad! I'd really appreciate it… I mean, if I go back to South Park…"_

"_You'll come back," his father replied, unlocking the doors of his car. "I'm sure you'll want to come back soon enough, whether to see us or someone else again."_

"_Yeah," said Kyle, stepping outside his car. A nice, cool breeze blew by as he stood beside the vehicle, and as Kyle let the air wind his face he smiled. "I'll see you later then, dad."_

"_Sure thing, Kyle."_ _And he drove off._

- - - - - - - - - -

"Mac and cheese sound good to you?" I turn to my brother and give him a curious glance. My parents still aren't home from wherever it is they've gone, and it's around dinnertime now. I'm kind of surprised that Ike would make macaroni and cheese, especially since it isn't something my mother would generally approve of. However, I think Ike catches my uncertainty because it isn't long before he adds; "Mom won't know."

I nod in his direction, turning back to the paper I'm reading. It's a rather interesting article about a deaf woman in Fort Collins who's gained her hearing back using some transplant. It actually seems to be quite the interesting article, especially since the person had been born near deaf. Of course, it doesn't quite inspire me to get help with my voice, especially since our reasons are quite different.

"You know," says Ike, turning to me once he's put the casserole in the microwave. "That woman supposedly only wanted to hear her baby's cries."

Which makes sense, I suppose, since a new mother generally likes hearing her baby when he or she's happy or sad… or in pain.

"Technology's quite an amazing thing," Ike mutters under his breath. The next few minutes are spent in silence as the low hum of the microwave reverberates through the kitchen. Ike's also humming to himself, and the two combined don't make that pleasant of a sound. Still, I don't really mind, though both my ears and my stomach are grateful when the macaroni and cheese is finished.

Ike places it on the table as my eyes glance over it. It looks quite tasty for macaroni and cheese, and even though it's readymade it looks as if Ike's made it himself. "Bon appetite."

But just as I'm about to dig my fork into the dish the doorbell rings. I'm cursing slightly in my mind as I motion to get the door, leaving Ike to get the first amounts of food. I'm thinking it's my parents arriving home, though as I come to the door I begin to wonder why they don't have their key with them.

But it's not my parents—it's Stan.

"Hi," he says, looking at me. "I wanted to talk to you… Can I come in?"

"Who's at the door?" Ike calls from the kitchen, poking his head around the corner. "Oh, Stan! We're having mac and cheese! Come join us!"

"Sure," Stan says, stepping inside. "Can I talk to Kyle first, really quick?"

Ike frowns, walking over to us while frowning. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no… just… Just stuff I wanna tell him."

"Okay then," says Ike, turning away once more. "I'll put another casserole in the microwave then."

"Thanks," says Stan, waving some sort of thanks before turning to me. "Where'd you wanna talk?"

_In my room_.

"Okay," he replies, and the two of us ascend the stairs. Suddenly I feel this strange feeling in my stomach, and as we enter my room I feel my eyes grow tired. "So… Kyle. I wanted to apologize…"—he's not looking at me as he speaks, though it's not like I'm looking at him either—"I didn't mean to do that stuff last night… and if what you've told me's true…"

_Yeah_, I tell him. _You weren't in your right mind… I get it_.

"But that's…" Stan struggles for what to say, but he's quite unsuccessful for some time. Conversely I don't think I can think of anything to say to him, or even anything for him. "Kyle, I love Craig… But I mean… what I did… It's wrong that I've done something without Craig's knowing, especially something that might make him question my loyalty to him, but then… I've also hurt you because I know you're having a hard time… So I'm at a double fault…"

I'm not sure how to react. I know I've already told him that I've forgiven him, but at the same time something's urging me to go further. I suddenly have this feeling of questioning him, and even though I respect that fact that he's now with Craig…

_Do you really love him, then?_

"Yes, of course I love him," Stan says under his breath.

_Your mind and body are two separate things_, I tell him, the analytical side of me surfacing. _Your mind may resolve to do one thing, but your body does something else_.

There's a silence when I finish—though, it had been silent while I was signing my sentences—and it's a good half-minute or so when he talks. "Kyle… I love Craig. You're making this too difficult—for the both of us. I don't wanna hurt you nor get angry with you, because frankly it's still near impossible for me to do the latter, and I love you enough to not wanna hurt you. But you have to understand…"

This time my world doesn't shatter before my eyes. It's almost like a relieving feeling—even though I know I'll never really get over Stan, him saying that brings me one step closer toward moving on. The world won't stop turning on its axis if he never loves me again, as my English teacher once said.

I've tried once to convince him. I don't think I plan on trying again.

* * *

So I know this chapter isn't as great as the last one... and frankly I know I won't get 17 reviews like I did for chapter 14. While 17 reviews REALLY made my week, and while I know I probably won't get as much this time around, getting some amount like that would be _awesome_. 

I have another math competition tomorrow.

And now, for the awesome reviewers:**  
Loitsulaulanta **(yay, a new reader! I'm glad you like it so far, and I really wanted the reader to get close to Kyle. At the same time, you've kinda fallen into what I hoped how readers would identify Stan: confused and unsure. I mean, I wanted the reader to feel how Kyle felt about Stan, so I'm glad I've accomplished at least something. And yes, the brotherly bond. You know, I wish my brother were like Ike, haha). **Lil-Diego** (another new reader! Seriously, hearing from new readers really makes my day, too. I'm sure I've told you about pretty shit already, even though now that I'm in my right mind I can frankly tell you how much of a oxymoron that is... haha. Frankly, I'm quite curious to read other stories that have Kyle being mute, because you're the second person to suggest such a thing and I haven't really seen any myself). **cjmarie** (you're one of the few people to actually comment on how hideous it would be to see Cartman stripping, lol. I told you via MSN it'd be disturbing though, no?). **Ren85 **(thanks, I'm really glad that you think I've captured this well. I mean, I haven't exactly consumed alcohol before, so I was only basing it on stories I've read. Sadly enough, I'm nowhere near 21 yet, haha). **Greyhound Master** (totally not a year! haha. But in all honesty, I think I _am_ influencing Kyle slightly. I know I should probably step aside and write him as he's supposed to be, but that's a bit hard. Although really, I think my emotions are similar to what he has to feel, anyway. I hope that's not a problem for you...). **Fay D Flourite **(Ahhh! You are so awesome! Your review seriously made my day. I REALLY love hearing that other people like my story; it proves that I'm not writing for nothing and that I'm at least letting someone have a good read. Still, even if you don't review again it's great to hear that you like my story!). **Phoenix II** (Yeah... this week pretty much sucked. BUT, it's Friday now and I've finally gotten free from that horrible grasp of assignment after assignment being due and such... But yeah, Kyle's a bit too moral, though it's kinda funny how he randomly has urges to test other people and such. It does go with what he's said this chapter, though, mind and body being separate and such).

Holy _shit_ that was extremely long. Anyway, I hope to hear from a lot of you... and I guess I will see you in the next chapter then?

- Zak -

On another side-note, I plan on adding a prologue to chapter 1... I'll just insert it before the actual chapter as opposed to adding it as a separate chapter. I'll put it up when I post chapter 16, then.


	16. A Waning Sunset

**If you've opened this just to read, scroll down to where the chapter starts.** I'm taking this opportunity to explain some stuff to those interested readers.

One of the reasons why I've updated is because, despite how much writing this story makes me depressed, it happens to be my **only** form of release. I know I'm being a bad author by making Kyle biased to my own life, but it's the only way I can keep writing. I'm trying to make Kyle as canon as possible still, but the fact remains that we both happen to be going through the same stuff currently.

Also, I've decided to update because you as the readers don't deserve to be punished because shit happens in my life. If something's wrong with me, I don't think you all should suffer. Yes, I'm a review whore, but I really _do_ love pleasing people too. I got several PMs and emails telling me how this story's brought joy to their lives and whatnot (or even a simple as having had a good read), and that alone makes me want to continue.

Lurkers frustrate me. I'll leave that aspect at that.

But I'm getting on a tangent now. I really hope you all like this chapter, even just a little. It took me forever to write; I literally sat down at a computer and ended up only typing five words, at one point. This is getting harder and harder to write, especially as we begin turning toward a more emotional aspect, and I hope that all this self-motivation and hours of setting aside homework to write this is actually paying off. I don't think I can stress any more how much it means to me when someone new reviews my story, that I've actually made one more person happy somewhere in this large planet.

I guess the fact remains. The only thing that really makes me happy is if I've made someone else happy.

I thank you for taking the time to read this. I'll try willing myself to get more chapters up, I promise.

-Zak-_  
_

* * *

_Do not fall into the trickery of the mind.  
You will only lose yourself in a nonexistent reality.  
You can only move forward if you look at what's ahead of you.  
Don't look behind you—you'll end up slipping. _

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_****Chapter Sixteen **

I know I'm forgetting something, but I can't think of what it is I've forgotten.

It's past midnight—I can't sleep. This silence around me it seems too noisy to bear; I can't even string a meaningful sentence in my head, and I can barely hear myself think. I'm almost positive South Park's quite barren outside and that most everyone would be indoors sleeping, among other things.

Do I even want to think?—if I could I probably would, even if I didn't want to. The only place I've really gone to since the reunion had been the synagogue, and even there I had barely paid attention to anything I saw or heard.

Something in my mind's forcing me to keep awake, as if it wants me to remember something. But I can't think of anything I might be forgetting; the only thing really I have yet to do is to be employed, but I have the slightest feeling that that isn't it.

A twenty-five-year-old man is never usually seen hugging a pillow to his chest, but if someone were to walk into my room he or she would see just that. No, I'm not crying—but I've buried my head into the pillow nevertheless. Somehow it feels much more comforting when your face is smothered by a pillow.

I'm not angry with the world—no, I'm sorta in this neutral state. I feel like I should be angry at someone, like I should be letting loose tears over someone, but I can't. Instead I have this dreaded feeling that prevents me from sleeping, and a constant ideation that I've forgotten something recurs in my conscious.

But what is it?

I'm sure glaring at my barren walls won't help me remember what this thing is. Even looking around won't help; scattered upon my desk are a bunch of college textbooks I didn't bother to sell, and I'm sure there's nothing in the scribbled papers on my desk that'll help, either.

It couldn't possibly have something to do with Stan—I haven't talked to him for at least a week. Sure I've seen him, but there hadn't been enough time to even wave a hello. Quite frankly I haven't associated myself around anyone during the past week—Ike being the only exception—and so if there's something I'm really forgetting it shouldn't have much to do with other people.

Right?

There's nothing special about today, is there? Today's not the Super Bowl, there's no season premiere I've missed, and it isn't President's Day. There isn't an important concert I've forgotten to attend today, there's no errands I was to carry out, and no one's asked me to do something today. From the top of my head I don't _think_ anyone's birthday's today, either.

And then it hits me. It's not that it's someone's birthday I've missed… It's someone's birthday I would've missed.

I guess since it is past midnight… _Technically_ it's his birthday today already.

My mind races as I try to think of what to give him. You'd think I'd know by now what he likes but I don't. It's been so long since I've given him a gift, and I don't even remember what I've given him in the past. Knowing me, I had probably gotten him a mere card, especially since I had more of a common sense than a creative sense. But for some reason, this time around, I feel as if I don't want to give him only a card.

But what to give? Even if I got him a pair of ice skates—autographed especially for him by Brian Boitano—I'm sure he wouldn't consider it as a very nice gift. Stan likes football, as well… though I'm sure giving him a football wouldn't be very special, either.

Isn't there anything special out there I can give him?—something that no one else but me would think of giving him?—something unique that'll make him remember in an instant it came from me?

I rise from my bed and pace around my room, stopping at my window as I heave a great sigh.

You know… I think there _is_ something different I can give him.

But would he like it? While it is something that he would clearly figure out its sender, namely me, at the same time I'm not sure if he'd enjoy it. Sure, it's something he'd probably enjoy in the past, but times have changed and I'm not sure if he's held on to that likely.

I doubt he has, but since it's the only other thing I can think of I decide to stick with my plan.

- - - - - - - - - -

_"You aren't going to leave me by myself again, are you?" Kyle asked as he bent over to tie his skates. _

_Somewhere behind him Stan replied to his question. "I thought you already asked me that, ages back?" _

_"Yeah… Just making sure." A cool breeze blew by as the sun reflected interesting shades against the seemingly white ice. There was probably some physics-related string of reasoning occurring in Kyle's mind as he stared into the light blue horizon, watching the ice his feet would soon step into. Somewhere behind him Stan was putting on his own skates, but the boy had started ages before him and he still was not finished. "Stan, you're staring… again." _

_"What?" followed an exasperated cry; "I am _not_ staring!" _

_"Whatever, dude." Kyle smiled as he tightened his laces a final time, turning around just quickly enough to catch Stan staring open-eyed in his direction. "You've been ready all this time?" _

_"Yeah," replied Stan, blinking once or twice. "I've just been waiting for you." _

_"While staring." _

_"No, dude, _not_ staring." Kyle nodded his head in defeat as Stan came to a halt beside him. "Shall we go?" _

_"Sure." Stan smiled in return as he took Kyle's hand in his own, stepping forward onto the ice. He found himself gripping Kyle's hand tighter at first as he almost lost balance, but it was soon enough when the two were properly on the ice, skating along its perimeter with hands entwined. _

_"If it really bothers you we won't go anywhere near the center," Stan said with a smile. _

_"I don't mind," Kyle replied, squeezing his hand. "I trust your word." Stan nodded, smiling as he pulled Kyle along a pond's corner. They skated for hours and hours, although time didn't exist in their eyes, and throughout their skating experience they talked of things people normally talked of on their third date—and then, even the most atypical of things. Regardless on the peculiarity of their conversational topics, they still had a great time talking, skating, and holding hands—all without the worry of time. _

_Eventually, though, Stan did take time into account, but for completely different reasons. _

_"Why'd you stop?" asked Kyle while frowning, but as Stan continued to stare blankly into the horizon Kyle decided to follow suit. "Stan…?" _

_"The sun's setting," the raven-haired boy muttered softly. _

_"It sets every day," Kyle replied, but a quick hand from Stan and he remained quiet. To Kyle they must've stared at the sky for days, though in reality they had been skating for at least ten times as long. Yet as the sky began turning pinkish Kyle still couldn't seem to figure out what Stan found so interesting. "I don't get it…" _

_"It's struggling…" _

_Kyle sighed. "Stan… you're starting to freak me out." _

_"No, look…" But as Kyle looked to the sunset once more he still didn't see anything exciting. Kyle opened his mouth to ask once more but Stan seemed to be one step ahead of him this time. "The sun's struggling to stay up there…" _

_Kyle really wanted to know where Stan had even _thought_ of such an idea, but as he peered once more it seemed to make much more sense. "Stan…" _

_"The moon wants its turn with the sky, but the sun doesn't want to give in. The sky can't do anything—it's merely being influenced by both. But in the end the sky chooses the moon, and the sun is left to find skies elsewhere…" _

_"A sky the moon will overtake at another time," Kyle added, slowly getting the idea of Stan's philosophy. _

_"But the sun doesn't give up," Stan continued, causing Kyle to raise an eyebrow. "Even in the darkest hour, the sun does its best to stay in the game. And in the end the sun makes a glorious appearance, one worthy to convince the sky once more who it really belongs to." Kyle bit his lip, looking up at the sky as it morphed into a complete disarray of colors. It wouldn't be long now before the sun disappeared completely… _

_"And I thought _I_ thought too much about things," Kyle said with a chuckle. _

_Stan removed himself from his daze as he turned to his boyfriend. "That doesn't mean I don't think at all, though. Wanna skate?" Kyle laughed as he accepted the invitation, and with a kick of his skates the two were at it once more. They skated on that pond for an even longer period of time, not even caring that darkness had surrounded them nor that they'd never stayed out this late in the past. _

_But neither boy seemed to mind. They knew the sun would rise eventually. _

- - - - - - - - - -

I find Ike waiting for me when I return from my birthday shopping voyage.

"Stan's in the living room," Ike says, causing my mouth to drop. "He showed up randomly while you were gone… scared the living hell outta mom. But… yeah, I just wanted to tell you before you walk haphazardly into the house."

I frown at him and then turn to the gift in my hands. How the hell was I supposed to hide this?—in an inconspicuous way, that is. Hiding this behind my back wouldn't do me any good…

As if reading my mind, Ike reveals a backpack—I suppose, then, that _he_ can hide things behind his back, and that it isn't a genetically-related skill. "Just put it in here."

I smile gratefully as I do just that—I'm quite glad for his ever readiness, even if it does scare me at times—and after nodding my head I step inside my own house.

No one's there.

I turn to Ike, who looks just as clueless as my face looks, probably. "He _was_ here…"

"Kyle!" says a voice almost immediately after Ike, startling the both of us. "Sorry, sorry, I had to use the restroom…"

_What are you doing here?_

"Well… I was going to invite you to join us… Craig's giving me a birthday treat at his favorite restaurant and he said I could invite someone if I wanted to. So, naturally, I pick you."

I bite my lip as I observe the man. He's not the slightest bit nervous about this, as if nothing awkward had ever existed between the two of us; and for some reason that dampens my spirits.

Nevertheless, I nod and accept his invitation. _Okay. When do we leave?_

"Now, if you'd like. It's almost lunchtime, and I'm supposed to meet Craig there. But if you'd like to rest first and stuff that's totally cool with me."

_No thanks. We can leave now if you want_.

"Don't wanna drop that bag of yours at least?" he asks, motioning towards Ike's book bag I'm wearing.

_No thanks._

"Okay, let's go then." I wave at Ike as he waves back, and as I step out of my house he closes the door behind me. I'm back in the outdoors once more, and quite frankly I don't mind being out here. It's rather cool, as always, which never fails to be a good thing. In the distance I can see a small boy and his father playing football in the streets, and further away is a woman watching the pair.

Apparently Stan can tell they're who I'm looking at, because seconds later he decides to comment on the matter. "They married quite early, immediately after finishing high school?"

I turn to him, slightly confused. _Who?_

"Them," he replies, jerking his head toward the three. "Bebe and Clyde. Bebe had her first child when she was like… nineteen, I think. That or when she was twenty, because her child's about six-years-old right now."

I nod as I continue to stare in the distance. That really is Bebe, I suppose… I think her brown hair was why I didn't recognize her off the bat, as it is still a bit hard to get used to—unless I'm awfully close to her, and in that case I'd recognize her facial features before her hair. I can't make out what their child looks like from here, but I have the slightest feeling that he looks a lot like her.

"Are you getting in?" Stan asks me, and as I remove myself from my gaze I turn to him and smile.

_Yeah_. I get inside his car as he turns on the engine and in minutes we're off to some place in South Park. Of course, there really aren't that many restaurants in South Park—to the best of my memory there weren't, at least—and as for where we're going to eat… It isn't too much of a mystery, I'd think.

We don't talk during the short car ride, mainly because it's quite impossible. He isn't able to see my hand gestures while keeping an eye on the road at the same time, and I don't have pen and paper to write back. Instead we ride in silence, which I've gotten quite used to by now.

We park at Shakey's Pizza, which immediately makes me want to crack up. _This_ is Craig's favorite restaurant? I had half-expected it to be a cheeseburger fast food joint, some steak restaurant—even a seafood restaurant would've first come to mind. But no; his favorite restaurant is Shakey's Pizza.

True to Stan's word, Craig is already waiting for us at one of the tables.

"Hey Stan," he greets, waving a hand at me. "Kyle…" And as Stan turns away to take off his jacket he gives me the finger.

"You said I could bring a guest… You don't mind, do you?"

"If I did I wouldn't have suggested it," Craig said with a smile, though I know it's half-meant. Stan takes a seat next to Craig as I occupy the other side of the table—though it's not like I need the whole side—and as we get more comfortably seated a waitress comes up to us for an order.

"We'll just order a whole cheese pizza," Craig informs her without a minute's thought.

"To drink?"

"Mountain Dew for me," says Craig.

"Same," says Stan. "And I think Kyle wants water, right?" I nod in agreement as the waitress leaves to put our orders in, and it's only after she's vanished into the kitchen when we turn back to the table. "We're at a _pizza _restaurant," Stan says under his breath. "What other than pizza would we want to order, anyway?"

_There are different kinds_.

"True," Stan says, causing Craig to raise his eyebrows.

"This is just as confusing as that one time," Craig says quietly, though I can still hear him; whether or not he intended it that way's an entirely different story. "It's like… back in high school, you seemed to understand Kenny perfectly through that… _thing_ of his, but all I heard was a bunch of mumbling. Now it's the same thing with Kyle."

"He could always just write things down for you instead," Stan says with a smile. "That is… if you wanna understand something _that_ bad."

"How would I know if you were talking behind my back?"

"I'm not behind your back, though," Stan replies, smiling. Then, as he leans on Craig's shoulder he adds; "Besides, I'd _never_ do that to you…" The action alone makes me sick, the way Craig's got Stan on his shoulder, one hand stroking his hair as I had once done. His other hand is miles below the surface of the table, and quite frankly I don't wanna know what's happening down under. I'm sure if I asked they'd merely say they were holding hands or something.

Sure, what bullshit that is.

"Happy birthday, Stan," Craig says to his boyfriend, patting his head lightly before resuming his absentminded strokes. "I'm going to be working for some time tonight, though… I won't get back until eleven or so."

"That's fine," says Stan, looking up and into Craig's eyes. "I don't mind."

"I'll give you a proper birthday gift later, I promise." Stan smiles as Craig lowers his head for a kiss, and immediately I sink back into my chair—though not too much or else I'd squash my gift that's still in the backpack. Why did I agree to this?—shouldn't I have known that Stan and Craig would be doing this? Apparently not, but watching them makes me think things I know I shouldn't be thinking of.

I vowed to not interfere. So there's really only one thing I _can_ do.

"Kyle!—wait! Where're you going?"

I don't turn around to answer him.

- - - - - - - - - -

_"It's too dark, Stan." _

_"We can go on still, don't worry…" _

_"But I'm tired…" Stan sighed, giving in to the Jewish boy's complaints as they hobbled over to the edge of the pond. With a relieved cry of exasperation Kyle fell to the ground, uncoordinatedly struggling to pick himself up to a more comfortable position. Still, he failed, and as he sank into the ground in defeat Stan flopped onto the space next to him. _

_"That was… fun…" Kyle couldn't reply amongst his strained attempts to catch his breath, but Stan knew he agreed quite strongly with the statement. After all, skating for eight hours without end was indeed a very tiring feat. "Wanna do this again, sometime?" _

_"Not… Not tomorrow," Kyle managed to say, striking a laugh from Stan. _

_"'Course not," Stan said, smiling in the dark. "Maybe as a fourth date, whenever that ends up being." _

_"Not… even," said Kyle. "More like… a twentieth date. I can't put up with that amount of skating, dude." _

_"Be more active," Stan muttered, laughing slightly. "You're physically fit enough to do it, dude. You just need to get out more." _

_"With school and crap, I have no time." Stan sighed, stretching his arms over his head as he let out a groan. _

_"I think you're right," Stan said once he had finished, laughing at having just been proven wrong. "This _is_ tiring… my muscles hurt." _

_"I can't drive for you, dude," Kyle said slowly. "I didn't bring my license with me." _

_"Just gonna have to wait here until I can drive you home, then." _

_"I don't mind," said Kyle, rolling over to his side. Somehow… Somehow Kyle felt as if he could see the orbs of Stan's blue eyes in the dark, even with the absence of sunlight. Of course, it was fairly hard to say if it had really been what he was seeing, especially since everything he had learned in physics went against it. _

_But then, it really _must've_ been Stan, because no ordinary lights would move closer to him—at the same time he heard Stan doing the same thing. "I frankly don't mind either. I'm just afraid of falling asleep when the sun rises, being seen by everyone that comes here. I'm sure having people watch you sleep is a weird feeling to think about." _

_"I'd bet," said Kyle, smiling. "Just stay where you are and relax. I'll wake you up if you fall asleep." _

_"Thanks," said Stan, shutting his eyelids. It wasn't long before Kyle found the boy as silent as a stone, his body rising only slightly every time he breathed. He wasn't asleep yet, Kyle was sure, but he knew it would be soon when he'd have to wake the boy up. He couldn't help but watch Stan, though; the way his stomach rose, the way he barely moved, the way his mouth would open occasionally—all of these actions were fascinating for the Jewish boy to watch, even in the dark. _

_"Just because it is dark… doesn't mean I can't… see you…" Kyle frowned as Stan muttered some other things, though all quite inaudible. _

_"What'd you mean?" _

_"You're staring." _

_Kyle frowned once more, biting his lip. "I am _not_ staring." _

_"You're watching me sleep, dude." _

_"Am not," retorted Kyle, but he knew he hadn't been kidding anyone. "You were staring whiles back, too." _

_"But I was staring because of hormones," said Stan softly. "You're watching me… sleep. It's an entirely different thing." _

_"Whatever, dude." _

_"No, no… there's nothing wrong with it. I just found it funny… that's all." _

_"Yeah, sure," snapped Kyle. "By the way, I think you've had enough rest time. I wanna sleep in a bed, you know. Not on the ground." _

_"Not cool," muttered Stan as he tried picking himself up. He didn't quite succeed though, and as he found himself collapsing to the ground once more he chuckled slightly. "Wanna help me up?" _

_"And you claim _I_ need to be more active…" scoffed Kyle. "Seriously, dude… I would've thought you were Cartman or something, seeing you unable to even sit up." _

_"That's so not cool," said Stan. Perhaps it had been to prove Kyle wrong, or maybe even the fact that he didn't want to be compared to Eric; either way, within the next few seconds Stan managed to find enough energy to sit in an upright position. "See, I'm not—" but he didn't finish his sentence. Having enough energy to sit up was one thing, but having enough energy to maintain upright was an entirely different matter. _

_"Aw—Aw! Stan!" But even as Kyle exclaimed such complaints Stan collapsed and fell on top of the Jewish boy. "Stan, get off me!" _

_"Too tired…" _

_"Can we at least rest in your car?" Kyle suggested. "Besides, the ground's cold and I'm freezing my ass off." _

_"I'll warm it later," Stan said jokingly, though he probably didn't realize in what way that could be taken. _

_Not that Kyle saw that statement that way, of course. "Seriously, dude…!" _

_"Stop complaining." _

_"Stop complaining?" Kyle asked in disbelief. "Stop _complaining_? Dude! How can I _not_ complain? The ground's fucking cold, the air's fucking cold, and_ I'm_ fucking co—" _

_"Stop complaining," Stan repeated, and as a Kyle Broflovski opened his mouth to comment back Stan pushed himself upward to capture the boy's open mouth in a kiss—Kyle's first real kiss with Stan, in fact. Naturally, during the kiss, and even after, Kyle made not one peep about Stan's falling asleep on top of him. _

_Of course, Stan would _always_ have enough energy to kiss his boyfriend again, granted the opportunity. _

- - - - - - - - - -

I wonder… If I were tied to a chair, would I still be able to commit this habit?

—the habit of walking away from my problems, that is.

I'm walking around the mountain town of South Park once more—as if I haven't done it enough before. How many times had I done it before? There had been the day when I first got here, though at that specific moment in time I hadn't really had any problems to release. Well, in actuality I _did_ have problems, but none of those were in my conscious mind.

After that… I think the next time I had walked away from something was at the restaurant Kenny worked at, when I saw Craig for the first time. Stan and I had been in the middle of a very heated sign language conversation, I think, and he had decided to show up. I think the minute he greeted Stan I had some sort of idea of the truth. I'm sure I walked away out of frustration, much as Stan did some time before at that same restaurant.

Then after that, I'm sure the next time had been after the reunion. I suppose most people would feel turned on if they had been in my place, but there had just been something about it that made me uncomfortable, even if I had wanted Stan. I left because I didn't want to deal with pain, even though it stuck with me all four miles back to my house and the hours I spent trying to sleep afterward.

Am I the problem though? Is it that I can't even enjoy things I desire? That maybe it really isn't Stan that's skewing this ordeal, but me?

I know I've vowed endless amounts of times to not meddle with his relationship, but every time I make that promise I always end up breaking it. Perhaps it really is my fault, then—that the only reason why all this is happening is because I can't keep my own commitments. Maybe Stan's being the right person in all of this…

"Kyle!" I freeze in my steps—incidentally I'm right in front of South Park Elementary—and I don't even bother turning around to see the person who's called me. I can recognize him quite clearly by his voice, anyway. "Why'd you run off…?"

I don't give a reply. I don't say a word—not that I could—and the only hand gestures I make suggest nothing whatsoever. I have my back turned to him anyway, so he wouldn't be able to see anything I said to him.

"Can't we be at peace for once?" he asks, causing me to tap my foot. "I mean, it's my birthday… if there were one day nothing were to be between us, I'd like it to be today."

Birthday…?—that's right. Today _is_ his birthday. And yet there's something in my head that's telling me to do something, something that I've probably forgotten…

I turn to him, mainly out of respect. As he looks at me with this hopeful glance I begin to wonder where Craig is amidst all of this. He's angry with the fact that I'm still in their affairs, I'm almost positive, but I'm more surprised at the fact that he's even allowed Stan to chase after me.

"Just give it a try," Stan mutters, turning to his watch. "It's only two in the afternoon and Craig's gone to work. Can we at least _try_ to make the rest of today better than it already is?"

Of course—Craig's at work. And he's coming home late. Not to mention he's gonna give Stan a better birthday gift than anything I could give him.

That's right!—a birthday gift!—it's still in my bag on my back! He watches me as I pull off the bag Ike's given me, placing onto the ground as I struggle to take out the desired item. I haven't squashed it so much, considering how many times I've forgotten it was there.

"So _that's_ what the bag was for…" Stan mutters softly as I look up to him, smiling.

I suppose I'm either gonna give it to him or accept the fact I've wasted a trip to Butters's house to get this.

"What's this…?" His eyes grow wide as I hand him his gift, and he takes it without word. For a moment it feels as if the world's gone silent to watch this event—and I swear there probably are some people watching—and I'm not sure how Stan feels about the gift.

_Happy birthday_, I tell him before walking away, leaving him to hold his bouquet of gardenias—the very thing he had gotten me for my birthday years ago.

In my head I know. If there's anything good to come out of this, I'm sure I'll hear from him again.

* * *

I think I've already spoken my little heart out in terms of this chapter. I suppose the only thing left to do now is review replies. 

_The replies to all reviews from last chapter, not just random ones. Because I love everyone who's helped me through this tough time:_**  
Giacomo** (You've come back! I'm happy. I'm glad this story's made you happy, even though it's not so much for me. But hey, we see different things... And I promise, I won't ever stop writing this story until it's done. I also promise I won't break that promise). **Ren85** (But see, even though I know I should stop writing for the sake of my health, I can't. I mean, knowing that people are waiting for me to update makes me obligated to write something... And writing this story is fun, anyway, so I might as well. I'm glad that you liked the last chapter, as well. The KennyCartman thing is a really minor aspect until we get to the thirty-chapters and such. Which seems _so_ far away!). **facepalm **(I'm glad you love my story. I really do. I mean, I saw that you alerted my story some time ago without reviewing (like the 17 other people), and it just made my day when I finally saw a review from you! I mean, yeah... I've already mentioned how much new reviewers make my day and such...). **Greyhound Master** (yes, yes. that flashback will be important, thank you for noticing! You know, the gardenia flashback had also been quite important, though no one really commented on that. I hope you liked this chapter). **cjmarie** (you totally reviewed without me reminding you on MSN! That's like... amazing... Are you sure you're not someone who's merely hacked into her account? I mean really, this is like world-breaking news. And yeah, the Mrs. Broflovski thing... I actually added that after I uploaded onto Document Manager, like a last minute thing (as if that chapter had been long enough, though). Still, I thought it was nice, and I'm glad you found it interesting). **Fay D Flourite** (Another review! I know you've offered to help me and such via email, but I haven't really gotten around to emailing and such. If you have MSNIM or YahooIM we could talk there).

_Let's take a break... Okay, continuing:_  
**LaColere** (no problem! I loved that story a lot, and since I liked it I gave it the review it deserved. Although... I've vowed to not read stories for a while, since they also make me feel depressed (mainly because I cry at all the emotional ones and such). But when I do go back to reading stories I'll be sure to catch up on what I've missed!). **Loitsulaulanta** (have I told you how much I love your name? But anyway, I'm happy that you liked the flashback. Next chapter's flashbacks won't be as fluffed up and such, but I like writing flashbacks. You have no idea how relieving it is for me to let Kyle talk, haha!). **Phoenix II** (no! math is good! I got 23rd in the state of Florida this time, though I think I did reasonably okay. I would've gotten a trophy too, because all the scores were so close! And I'm killing myself for it because I got a question wrong, one that asked for the area of a circle given circumference. It was like a giveaway question, especially since the other 29 questions were calculus related and such, but I forgot to square the radius. Yeah, it cost me a trophy, bahh). **Flabz** (that really hadn't been a first kiss; the first kiss is in this chapter. That was just like... I dunno. I don't consider kisses "kisses" unless it's mouth to mouth, you know?).

_I wonder, do any of you actually read the review replies I give you? Lol._

- Zak -


	17. The Worst Ache of All

There aren't very many reviews this time around... Could you at least tell me what I'm doing wrong?  
And thanks to Phoenix II for keeping me amused while I wrote this, haha.

Don't think I can't see you, lurkers...!

* * *

_Hold on to what you treasure.  
Keep close those you adore.  
Even if it seems to bother you now  
you'll never know what it is you've actually lost  
until you've said goodbye._

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Seventeen**

"_You know… you could die from drinking too much…" A hesitant Kyle Broflovski bit his lip as he watched his friend pour a glass of wine into his glass. Beside him Kenny and Eric had their own glasses prepared for the toast, each boy excited to consume the alcohol._

"_It's only a glass," reasoned the raven-haired boy, smiling as he raised his glass in Kyle's direction. "You sure you don't want any…?"_

"_No, dude, I don't want any." Stan shrugged as he set the bottle down on top of the wine cabinet. The four boys were alone in Kenny's empty house—trailer—and as the blonde boy's father was a heavy alcoholic a easily-accessible supply of wine hadn't been hard to put their hands on. Kenny had eagerly waited for the day his family would leave the house—even for a minute—and hearing that his family would be gone the entire night made him more than excited to invite his friends over to share the moment together._

"_Kahl's just got sand in his vagina," Eric muttered. "Killin' the party and everythin' else Jews do."_

"_Fuck off, Cartman!" exclaimed Kyle, his fists trembling as he spoke. "Maybe I just don't wanna die when I'm twenty-five!"_

"_I'm sure you're over-exaggerating," said Stan, raising his glass once more. "Toast, anyone?" Two other boys chorused a proclamation as their glasses clashed together, emitting a ringing sound into the air as the glasses separated. The three boys tipped their glasses over as they drained the alcohol, and as they set empty cups down onto the table they wiped the remnants off their lips._

"_It's so bitter," said Stan. "But at the same time the taste's so addicting…"_

"_It's not bittah," snapped Eric._

"_I still don't think you should've drunk it," Kyle muttered under his breath._

"_Aw, come on Kyle…"_

"_That's stuff sickening, dude…"_

"_No it's not."_

"_Anyone up for seconds?" asked Kenny, his voice already seemingly less controlled, and to Kyle's disappointment his other friends agreed to the second helping. He gave a slight cheer as he snatched the bottle, collecting the empty glasses for him to fill._

"_I'm off to do something better," the Jewish boy muttered, pulling on his jacket. "I'll catch you guys later."_

"_Come on, Kyle!" Stan protested, clinging onto the boy's arm. "Just stay here, dude."_

"_No, Stan. I'm bored here, and I don't wanna smell the puke."_

"_Kyle, please?" pleaded Stan, but the Jewish boy would not listen._

"_Now what Kyle needs is a good finger—"_

"_Stop being stupid, Cartman," Kenny muttered, halting him before he could finish his Steve Irwin impersonation. "There's nothing wrong in having even a cup, dude."_

"_But you're having much more than one cup!" exclaimed Kyle, pointing an accusing finger. "You're gonna kill yourselves doing that!"_

"_Kenneh's dad has drank three whole bottles and _he's_ perfectlah fine," Eric pointed out while tapping an impatient foot. "Two glasses ain't gonna hurt, Kahl."_

"_Yeah, that's what you say now," said Kyle, shaking his head. "But by the time you're done with that glass you'll just want another one… and another… and another…"_

"_It won't be like that, I promise," Stan said, slipping an arm around the boy's waist. "Please stay…?"_

"_No."_

"_Stan, let him be," muttered Kenny, pouring his glass with more wine. "If he doesn't wanna drink then don't force him."_

"_Yeah, he's just got sand in his vagina," added Eric, though he had said it before._

"_I just want him to stay with us," Stan muttered, leaning onto the boy. "Please, dude?"_

_Kyle gave a relented sigh. "I hate alcohol… but I suppose I could stay…"_

- - - - - - - - - -

I want to turn around but I can't. I'm barely aware of where my current direction takes me; my mind's focused on the direction directly behind me. It probably isn't a good idea to do just that, especially risking Stan seeing me turn. It'd be a sign of weakness; by looking at him I'll appear as if I had been unsure of my decision to walk away from him the minute I gave him the bouquet. Why had I left when I gave him the bouquet; I'm not so sure myself—but now that I've done it I don't want him to think that I'm unsure of what I've done.

I'm clearly violating his birthday wish of having this day with him at peace. He's probably gonna tell me something rather horrid next time we meet; now that I think about it, giving him those flowers hadn't been the best idea I've had. Originally I had thought of giving it to him because he had given it to me years ago but back then we had been going out. This time around we weren't particularly close… and I'm sure receiving flowers—especially from a guy, to a guy—isn't the most pleasant of things to feel.

I don't think Stan's following me, at the very least. I'm not entirely sure why I'm walking so briskly away from him—if he isn't following me there's not grand escape I have to make. In fact it's not much of an escape as it seems; I really only need to be in a place other than where he is.

I don't hate Stan, no. On the contrary I love him—it's just that I can't find a way to express that emotion. It's a burning sensation that pierces your insides until you're worse off than a skewered boar. It's that feeling that I've always had, ever since the day he broke up with me.

Do you know that feeling?—a feeling of defeat, that you can't love the person you want to. I'm more that familiar with that feeling and frankly it hurts more than a toothache would, which is supposedly the most painful ache in the body. In my heart I still love Stan—I know I'll always love him. Hadn't it been him who told me it was what we experienced that mattered? Even if we weren't officially together I could always love him because of the past we lived out together.

But what burns the most is that I can't love him. It feels like a wild beast being contained in a cage it can't escape out of; similarly, I feel as if my emotions need to leave the crevices of my heart, as if I need to give them toward a particular person in order to feel satiated. But I have no one to love now. I once gave all I had to Stan, giving him all the love I could spare; but with him gone I can't love anyone. There's only myself to turn to, only myself to console, only myself to love.

I want someone to love. I want someone to sate this desire of mine to love, this empty feeling that's resulted. I want…

…Kenny?

"Kyle!" exclaims the blonde, and before I realize it he's come up to me, hugging me slightly. No, it's not that I want him to be that person, but at the same time… I don't like Kenny, no; I think I'll leave that to Cartman. Yet Kenny's someone I can turn to, based on what's happened in the past. Even though he's not someone to love… maybe I can turn to him for comfort and condolence…?

I clasp my hands together as I look at him warily, hoping he'll take a hint of what I need. Sure enough, as he looks from my hands to my face, he sets his things down to dig through his things. Frowning, I curiously peer into his bag to see what's there; but it isn't long before he pops back up with some paper and pen, accompanied with an _Economics_ textbook.

"You can write on that," Kenny mutters, giving all three to me at once. I nod my head in recognition as I scribble something down, showing it him when I've finished.

_What're you doing here?_ I ask him, frowning as he glances up at me.

"It's my day job," he says slowly, pointing somewhere behind him. "I'm a teacher here." Sure enough—since I haven't bothered yet to see where I've landed myself—behind him is our old high school, standing the same as I remembered leaving it. There are still some students scattered in front of the school—I don't ever remember being that short—and as I turn back to Kenny he smiles.

Of course I suppose he probably teaches Economics, as he does have a textbook that suggests just that. In my mind it's kinda funny—no, not really funny, but ironic—he teachers such a subject, having come from an impoverished family himself. But then, maybe his social condition had influenced him to study more on financing and how the economy works?

"During the week I teach here," explained Kenny, picking up his bag once more; "during the night I work at that restaurant you've seen me at before, and on the weekends I work at the Pizza Hut." I nod understandingly, preparing my pen to write a response.

Admittedly I admire the idea that Kenny works three jobs a week just to get an income adequate for both himself and his family, but at the same time I can't help but wonder if he ever gets tired of working so much…

"Not really," he replies when I ask him exactly that. "I'm used to sleeping for small periods of time, anyway. Besides, if I really get too tired to operate I could always just die. Then I'll come back almost completely revitalized." There's a pause between us as he smiles at me yet again, turning his back to me as he stares at the school. "I was thinking of leaving early, but if you want I could show you my room and such. Maybe meet a few of our old teachers and such. You want in?"

I nod—it doesn't seem like a bad idea. Yet as he leads the way to the school I can't help but think how nice it'd be to die. Not in a suicidal way, but how nice it'd be to remove your problems by dying, and having them gone when you come back. It's probably bad to think of dying and killing yourself, especially since you can land yourself in jail for that, but as Kenny turns the key to his door I can't help but feel jealous of that blonde boy.

"Mr. Donald left," said Kenny as he sank into his chair. "Kinda sad, too, because he was one of the most awesome Biology teachers I've ever had." I smile at him; I don't think I'll bring up the fact that he had been his _only_ Biology teacher.

I continue to listen as Kenny lists off more and more names, some I recognize while others I don't. I hear the names of my chemistry teacher, my geometry teacher, my third-year English teacher… so many of the names I can still recognize, and it's almost as if the school hasn't changed at all.

"…Mr. Brown left too," he continues, causing my jaw to drop. Mr. Brown had been our sociology teacher in our tenth year—our _awesome_ sociology teacher at that—and I think he had been one of my favorite teachers at high school (and not just because that had been my only elective class sophomore year). No; he gave the best assignments for us to do, deviating from the lame egg project and taking other standard sociology projects to a whole new level.

Frankly thus, it makes me sad that he's left. But in a way that might've been a good thing; he had let me and Stan work together on our family poster project together on request, even if there had still been girls left over for the choosing. I suppose if he were still here he'd ask me about him, and it wouldn't be too pleasant…

"And you know who replaced him?" Kenny continues as I shake my head. "Mrs. Garrison." I bite my lip in fright; Mrs. Garrison had been an elementary teacher of ours, whose ideas weren't all that pleasing. In fact, he had been a Mr. at that point, indulging in his sick pleasures with Mr. Slave… But then he went ahead and got himself a sex change, though that didn't change very much.

And you know, I prefer Mr. Brown… but at the same time, if it weren't for Mr.—Mrs. Garrison, there wouldn't have been any hope for me and Stan… and then, there would be no hope for Stan and Craig either.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Are you going out again, Matt?" Kyle Broflovski asked as the door to his room opened slightly; "or do I not know you well enough by now?"_

_From the doorway his flustered roommate tapped his feet nervously. "Or something along those lines, yeah…"_

"_I told you before, dude. You don't need to tell me when you're going somewhere. The world won't stop spinning if I find out you're gone without you telling me first."_

"_It's out of respect, I guess," said Matt, sighing nervously as he placed a hand behind his head. "All the other boys are coming with me. You sure you don't wanna come?"_

"_Where to?"_

"_Local bar, as always. I'm sure there'll be a few girls there that'll catch your eye."_

"_No thanks," Kyle replied, turning back to his desk. "I've gotta read this book by tomorrow and I don't think I should be going out."_

"_Give yourself a break, dude!" Matt exclaimed, dropping his hand. "I mean… we're at Harvard and stuff, but you still gotta have a life."_

"_The boys are waiting for you, I'm sure," said Kyle, picking up the seven-hundred-page book. "You should get going."_

"_Yeah… I'll see you tomorrow then?" Kyle nodded without turning, and with a closing of the door he was left to silence. He had gained a lot of time in reading, admittedly, and within the next two hours he read a good three hundred pages without interruption. It'd be another three hours at the least before anyone would come home, which meant he'd be able to knock out the rest of the book before the night was over._

_Of course, he _would've_ finished the book, if it weren't for the interruption that would cost him the night._

"_Who the hell's calling me this late on a weekday?" Kyle asked himself, struggling to pull his cell phone out of his pocket. The words on his caller ID, however, surprised him as he smiled at the sight._

_Stan._

"_Hey Stan!" Kyle greeted, but the response he had gotten hadn't been so pleasant._

"_What the hell's wrong with you?" Kyle frowned, setting his book down as he began walking around the dorm. It was a fairly common habit of many people, to pace around the area while on the phone, and as Kyle did exactly that Stan continued. "You don't call me for four fucking months, and when I take the initiative to call you, you act like nothing's happened."_

"_Well… I dunno. What exactly has happened that's making you so…?"_

"_Pissed? Maybe it's you not calling me for four months, that's what! It's almost as if you _don't_ want to hear me or something."_

"_I do, Stan… I really do… I've just been caught up with school here, and it's tough."_

"_Tough?" Stan repeated, and it was quite clear how angry he was quickly becoming. "I'm in the honors program at Colorado State and I'm pretty sure that's tough. But what's _really_ tough is having a boyfriend that doesn't even call when he promised he'd keep in touch with me."_

"_I've been busy, Stan!" exclaimed Kyle, sighing heavily as he left his room. "I promise I would call you if I had the time."_

"_Even a nut like you should have the time, I'm sure."_

"_I just turned down an offer to go out with the guys, dude! I swear I've been busy."_

"_For four months?" Stan asked disbelievingly. "You couldn't even leave me a short three-letter-word email?"_

"_I've told you…" Kyle muttered softly, staring at the kitchen table. On the counter was a bottle of wine, perhaps a bottle Matt had left out by accident, and he sighed as he made a motion to put it away. "I really haven't had the time. You don't believe me when I say I would've if I had the time?"_

"_No," Stan muttered so quietly Kyle almost missed it entirely. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Kyle."_

"_Stan, I—"_

"_First you promised you'd never leave my side. Then you told me you wouldn't go out of state, even if it had been your ultimate dream. Then you said even if you went you'd always put me before academics. Then you said you'd keep in touch with me so that it wouldn't be so bad on my part…"_

"_Stan…" He paused in the middle of the kitchen, with one hand still grasping the bottle while the other held onto the phone loosely. "Stan, please…"_

"_Do you love me still?" Stan asked finitely and Kyle could only utter a single phrase._

"_Why do you doubt me, Stan… of course I do."_

"_Bullshit." Kyle's breath hitched as he set down the bottle in the cabinet, not moving from his position as he let the full impact of the words set in. "Kyle… I don't think this long-distance relationship can work for me anymore…"_

"_Stan, no…"_

"_I just can't… I can't stand spending each day coming home to listen to my voicemail to see if you've called, I just can't do it. I keep putting my hopes up that you'll finally fulfill one of your promises, but you don't… I can't do this long-distance thing, Kyle."_

"_Stan, I promise if you give me a—"_

"_No." And before Kyle knew it the phone went dead. He stood still for several seconds, even dropping his cell phone as he let it crash onto the cold floor. In not even ten minutes… his relationship with Stan… gone._

_It's quite funny how something good can take forever to build but can disappear in less than a thunderstorm's lightning flash, and Kyle had experienced just that. The silence of the house did not help him, only letting him torture himself with his self-blaming thoughts once more._

"_Where did I go wrong…?" Kyle asked himself though he already knew the answer on the inside. He stared quite intently at the bottle he had just set down, as if trying to stare through the bottle, and he was almost positive that if Matt saw him like this he'd wonder what the hell had happened. Slowly though, after what seemed like hours, Kyle found himself stepping back, carrying out the bottle of wine once more._

_He hated wine, yes, and he knew the consequences of drinking too much, yes; but it didn't come across in his mind as he opened the cork. Screw a glass—he wouldn't need one._

_Kyle knew he'd need more than a whole bottle to get over this._

- - - - - - - - - -

I escaped, yes; but I didn't think it'd be this soon when Stan would find me once more.

Kenny had been talking about Mrs. Garrison's employment opportunities when I had spotted him. Just as Kenny informs me how older kids had more common sense and wouldn't so easily be influenced by Mrs. Garrison's perverse manners of teaching I catch Stan's gaze—even if it's across the street. He's still holding the bouquet of flowers in his hands, and the sight of it alone makes me swallow bile down my throat from where it came.

"Kyle!" Stan cries out, crossing the street as we near him. I'm sure Kenny's wearing a strange expression on his face as Stan approaches me, bending over to catch his breath. I stare oddly at the bouquet still in his hands as he hazards a glance in my direction, and for some reason I'm expecting him to smile as he had frequently done earlier today.

Except, he doesn't.

"I'll be off at my car," says Kenny awkwardly as he turns away from us. "Kyle, if you want a ride home… I've got work in two hours…"

_Okay_, I sign, and Stan echoes my motions so Kenny can understand. I watch him as he leaves for his car—there goes my escape, the only person that could've prevented this upcoming conversation from being as awkward…

I've damned myself, I decide.

"You left without letting me say anything," Stan tells me once he's stood up again. "Not even a thank you or anything."

_I'm sorry_, I tell him, though I'm not sure how much of it I've meant. _You can say it now if you want_.

"I don't want to, thanks." Somehow the sentence feels so… so chilling, as if there's something behind his voice I'm meant to pick up but can't. It's bad enough he's not the same as he had been only hours ago, constantly smiling and encouraging me to try being on civil terms with him. No, instead there's coldness in his voice, a tone I can't place, and it's so drastically different yet seemingly familiar. "Kyle… how hard is it to just let go…"

I hang my head. I knew it; he's going at the act of giving him the flowers. Perhaps I should've stuck with the ever-so-cliché birthday cards…

"This is like… what, the third time we've had to bring Craig up again?" The tone behind his voice becomes quite noticeable, and with each word he says I grow more and more curious as to why this tone's so familiar to my ears… "How hard is it to just accept the fact that we've grown apart from what we once were? You're making this too hard… for both you and me… What's so hard about moving on?"

I don't want to cry. It had been not to long ago when I thought I wouldn't be fazed by this feeling anymore, when he rejected me and I found myself not feeling as hurt as I once did. But this completely changes all that; maybe it's because even though my mind's already set on moving on, my heart still wants Stan to be that person I should love, the person I should direct my feelings for. Maybe Stanley Marsh still seems to be the person I want to love without end, and hearing that same person's words of rejection cuts my heart more piercingly than any blade could ever accomplish.

What burns the most is that I can't love him. I can't love Stanley Marsh, the man I want to love.

_I love you_. Avoid the tears, Kyle Broflovski, and yet I know they'll come. I can't stop myself… Somewhere I know there's something that can help me, but until then… I just keep landing myself in unpleasant situations with Stan…

"Don't!" Stan pleads, and suddenly I find him grasping my shoulders. "Kyle, _don't_ love me. You'll only get hurt if you keep this up… and I don't want you to hurt yourself…"

That's it. I've gone. I collapse into his grip as my already forming tears stain the shoulders of his shirt. I can't tell what his reactions are, though I feel no wrapping arm to console me. He's not pushing me away, either, and all I'm left with is confusion… and a bucket-load of tears.

"Kyle… Kyle… Put yourself together, dude. You're twenty-five, and men that age don't cry…" But how can he say that, to tell someone to stop loving someone else… No, I can't stop crying; the pain in my heart hurts too much to stop. I can't just… _stop_ loving someone, can I? It's like asking someone to stop breathing; it takes time… and maybe time has passed already, but still…

I should really let go of Stan, but I can't. Every time I feel like I've gotten over him I end up crashing once more. Maybe I should just take his offer of being friends with him, but every time I get closer to him I become too close, and I repeat an unwanted cycle over again.

"Why can't you understand?" Stan continues, and he actually pushes me off him so he can look me in the eye. "Kyle, why can't you—Kyle, look at—_look_ at me—why can't you see that not everything's the same as you left it…? I don't know how many times it'll take for you to realize… _no_, I don't love you anymore. You're only making things worse by clinging on…

_I can't help it_.

"Yes, you can." He lets go of me as he takes a step back so that we aren't so close to each other in proximity. "We can be friends still, Kyle. Just… not really as we once were."

I reach my arms out, like a baby after its toy, but Stan only takes a step back. I bite my lips as I cram my eyes shut. This has got to be the third time I've heard Stan tell me this, but for some reason it hurts all the more this time around…

I reach my hand out again but instead of his hand I'm handed my bouquet of flowers. I stare at it for some time, feeling tears about to flow once more, and as I bite my lip I look up to find Stan's face.

Except, it's no longer there.

As I watch the man walk away from me my form's trembling, shuddering violently as I literally fall to my knees. In my hand is a bouquet of gardenias, the same ones I had given him earlier that day… It takes my mind a couple of seconds to process what's happened—did he really just hand me back my birthday present?

No, all those people were wrong about the tooth. The _heart_ache is clearly the worst pain in the body.

* * *

There are a lot of hints in this chapter... _A Lot_. There are subtle hints at everything in here, so you might want to take a second glance if time permits. Of course, don't kill yourself trying to find all the hints, but just keep that in mind as you read through this. 

I had an interesting thing asked to me recently. Someone asked me what college I went to... Do I really sound like a college kid here on this site? I mean, she found it quite surprising when I told her I was only still in high school. She told me my writing's beyond my years. So yeah, that's basically my happy moment of the week.

And now, of course...

Random review replies (not all, because I'm tired and I wanna sleep):

**Fay D Flourite** (Fay! omg I didn't even link that to the Tsubasa Fay until I saw your dp! anyway, I do not in any way think it's entirely too girly, and if it is then blah. I try making them as guy-ish as possible, though I know at times I fail at it). **Loitsulaulanta** (I'd like to say how much I LOVE that name, and it's good to know what it means, now. And yes, I think ice skating is uberly romantic, though I've never actually done it myself, in a romantic sense). **Ren85** (I wholeheartedly agree. But I mean, for someone who supposedly wants to remain mute he's sure having a hell of a time. Maybe he wants the angst, who knows (I know, actually, and that answer's no). But it really almost seems like it). **Phoenix II** (You're an awesome MSN buddy, have I told you that? And yeah, feel proud, because you've been the only exception so far to my "no reading" policy I've developed. I liked the ending to your story... but anyway, I'm sorry I haven't reviewed, and I'll do that during spring break (March... 21, I think?). And in all hopefulness I hope you're college stuff goes okay. But remember that the University of Mississippi will always be inferior to the Gators!).

I know that it's hard to remember what flashbacks have occurred and whatnot... but remember that things mentioned might've already been explained in earlier flashbacks... no matter how long ago. For example, I had people asking me about the gardenias and if we'd see Stan give them to Kyle... I guess people forgot I had already done that... There'll be a time when you won't have to keep flipping back (around chapter 40?) but until then just try and remember what's already happened and whatnot.

I start Economics online tomorrow, too, so you might not be seeing me much... unless you talk to me on AIM or MSN, in which case you'll still see me everyday and such. I'll try updating as often as I can though, but I won't guarantee anything. And if you wanna message me I've got info on my profile page and whatnot.

Anyway, if you liked this chapter please review, you'll really make my day. It's a bit angsty, I know, but this story isn't entirely happy in itself, anyway. Personally I like this chapter, but maybe that's only because Kyle gets hurt so much in this one, haha! I promise I'm no sadist.

Because I totally pwn your face,_  
- Zak -_


	18. He Loves Me Not

_You'll never really know if something will hurt you  
until you've actually gone out and done it.  
But by then it'll be much to late to realize  
that it was perhaps the biggest mistake of your life._**_  
_**

**_Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
_Chapter Eighteen**

_In the distance a pair of teenaged boys walked in the frigid air, mitten-covered hands stuffed into winter coats as they slowly made their way through the snow and into warmer grounds. Yet for a destination as that their walking pace was incredibly slow, almost to the point where it seemed like they barely even wanted to go there._

_As they walked under a streetlamp their apparel became clearer to see. They were dressed the same, basically, though with slight differences. One boy wore a blue hat, topped off with a red ball of light material; while the other wore a green hat known as an ushanka. Under the blue hat was straight, thin, raven hair, contrasting greatly from the thick curly locks of crimson of the other boy. Still, as both boys passed from under the light and entered the night sky's gloom once more the two clothing styles appeared almost the same._

"_You sure you're okay, Kyle?" asked the raven-haired boy, tilting his head slightly to view the other boy's face in the dark._

"_For the seventeenth time, Stan, I'm perfectly okay," snapped Kyle, digging his hands all the more into his pockets. "What's making you think I'm not all right?"_

"_Well, you aren't talking," Stan muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "You haven't been since we left Cartman and Kenny. Plus you keep staring at me for no reason, kinda like you were mad at me or something."_

"_I'm fine," said Kyle, turning red, and it had been times like those that Kyle was grateful for nighttime. "I'm just cold…. That's all."_

"_You want my scarf?" asked Stan, motioning to untie a red scarf before being stopped by the red-haired boy._

"_I'm okay, thanks," Kyle replied, nudging his head over to his house. "I'm almost home, anyway."_

"_Okay." The two continued to walk in silence, letting the cool air set into their rosy cheeks as they eventually found themselves at Kyle's front door. Under the porch light they could see just how red their skin was becoming and how each boy clearly felt frigid from South Park's winter conditions. "Get some rest, okay?"_

"_Yeah, dude…. You too." Stan nodded, and Kyle watched him as he slowly turned away, making his way toward his own home. He stared for quite some time, watching Stan's figure disappear into the darkness of the night—and even the nothingness for minutes after—but it was at least another ten minutes in the frozen weather before he even made an attempt to enter the door._

"_Kie-yole!" exclaimed a highly-pitched woman's voice the minute he stepped foot into the house. "Kie-yole, where have you been? Quick, get yourself over to the fire before you freeze into an ice statue!"_

"_I'll be upstairs, ma," muttered the boy, quite tired from his activities that day. His mother sighed and stepped forward, but she made no attempt to stopping her son from disobeying her and walking up to his room._

_The minute Kyle locked the door behind him he crashed into his bed, burying his head into his arms as he found his breath to slowly begin hitching in between the imminent tears. "Why?" he muttered under his breath, feeling the moist arms that cradled his sobbing head. "Is this… is this normal?" _

_He closed his eyes for a brief moment, perhaps to think of something or someone; but the minute he closed them they shot right back open, and he trembled on the spot. "I can't like him…. I just can't. He's a boy…. I'm a boy…. There's no way… no way this is normal." He struck his fist quite firmly onto the pillow on his bed, withdrawing it quickly before pounding his head onto it soon after._

_It seemed like he wasn't ready to accept what he was feeling. Poor Kyle Broflovski, son to a narrow-minded Jewish family, a boy who couldn't grasp the idea of him being remotely homosexual. Yet even if he wasn't ready to accept it for himself the signs were slowly becoming more obvious; he stared consistently at his friend without meaning to, he found himself dreaming of him in fantastical ways, and seeing him in the halls frequently sent him into a world of thought and confusion._

"_You don't like him," Kyle told himself, but each time he said it he only found more and more tears flowing down his cheeks. "You don't like him…. Damnit, Kyle Broflovski, you _don't like him_!" He picked up his pillow and threw it across the room, watching it as he landed into a heap atop his pile of laundry. He glanced angrily around the room, eyes chancing upon a small picture of the two in a photo booth. Each of the four frames showed the two in a different, goofy pose, yet each one seemed to drive him more and more off the edge._

"_I can't love him…" Kyle's voice echoed one last time, yet as he repeated the sentence he found his facial expression changing slightly. "…can I?" The question lingered in the air as he glanced once more at the four pictures, the Jewish boy biting his lip hard as he stared at the boy that plagued his unconscious hours. _Could_ he love that boy?—was it possible in the end?_

"_I'll give it a try," Kyle muttered, turning away from the picture as he left to pick up the pillow he had just thrown. He wouldn't be able to know for sure unless he tried, right? Yet as he settled down onto his bed to sleep over his slight dilemma he couldn't help but fee as if he had just made the worst decision of his life yet._

- - - - - - - - - -

I hate mornings. I hate waking up feeling almost fine, only to realize that there's something out there you shouldn't be feeling so placid about.

Kinda like this morning, when I wake up after ten hours of sleep to find a mysterious bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase on my desk. It takes two seconds to realize it's a bouquet of gardenias, two seconds to realize why I bought it, and another two seconds (additionally) for me to remember why I still have it.

But what I don't remember is if I cried over it at all. Sure, I definitely remember the ache from the conversation with him—quite clearly, in fact—but I can't seem to remember if I've let go any resulting tears. The pain's there but somehow it's seems as if I've progressed, as if I'm slowly getting over the whole ordeal.

Stan loves Craig.

Stan loves Craig.

_Stan loves Craig now. _It's a point that I'm sure Kenny made quite clear on the car ride home. Returning with such a dejected face only called for just that; as he drove me home I had been lectured upon moving on. And ironically enough, even though I wanted him to stop, I knew what he was saying was right; and in the end I kept listening to him.

But if there's one thing I'm curious about it's if he'll apply those principles to his own life once the time comes. I know Cartman likes Kenny, and I'm sure that it won't be long before he'll find out. I suppose I know Kenny's the kind of person that'll follow what he says, but I'm still curious if at that point he'll be able to accept Cartman for his feelings.

I'm out of bed by now, but as I meander into my closet I haven't yet shaken the idea out of my head. I'm even more curious of Kenny's actual reaction, now that I think about it. I suppose as long as Cartman likes one of us he'll be royally screwed, as he tended to rip on us harder than anything else in the world save a bag of cheesy poofs, yet him liking Kenny seems different than Cartman liking either Stan or myself. On the contrary, it's almost as if it were acceptable…

But would Kenny like him back? Though I'm not even sure Cartman would have the guts to admit something like that…. It's not quite fitting of him. But the deal between them is a mystery, and I suppose the only thing I can really do is to wait to see how it pans out. I'm hoping in the back of my mind nothing bad comes out of it, especially since Stan and I had just had an argument of my own…

Would I ever talk to him again? The two of us have had so many arguments it's almost as if one day we'll just break communication from each other altogether. And somehow, after how our conversation ended yesterday, I think that time might be soon.

I find myself fitting clothes and exit my room, making my way down a flight of stairs to arrive at my living room. I can't help but to wonder who's to blame for this. Recently I've had a mentality that I'm to blame and in a way I'm right—if I had never decided to leave for Harvard I just might've been able to preserve our friendship and retain what we once had.

"Kyle?"

I want to feel like it is Craig's fault, as if he's to blame because he took Stan away from me. But I can't hold anything against that boy—he's done nothing wrong; presumably, he only accepted Stan's case when he was presented the situation. As long as I don't know anything about them I shouldn't be one to judge.

"Kyle?"

You know, this exact room is where it all began, where I had received that letter that meant the whole world to me. Yet now it feels like I could've made do without going there and that I had made such a horrid decision in going there. And yet in my mind I know there's nothing I can do about it, but still I keep trying to reason my mistakes. Was going to Harvard really worth it? I'm not even practicing law at the moment, the sole reason why I had gone there to begin with. Knowing that I would be sacrificing a relationship over academics….

"Kyle?" I turn to find my brother in the kitchen with an apple in his hand, and in his other hand are sheets of paper. I frown slightly as he leaves the kitchen to walk toward me, fidgeting with the papers more nervously with each step he took. "Kyle, can I ask you a favor…?"

I nod silently, frowning as he takes a bite from his apple. I'm not entirely sure what he'd be asking, though I have a feeling it's to do with the papers in his hand. True enough, as he stops in front of me he hands the sheets of paper into my hands, and as I glance over them quickly I find myself frowning once more.

Ike swallows down and explains. "It's for an article I'm writing…. I figured that actually interviewing you would be hard, so I printed out the questions I wanted to ask you." I nod slightly, glancing over the title of the paper. _Speaking with Hands_—as I had expected. "Do you think you could answer some of those questions before… say, tomorrow?"

I nod, even giving the thumbs-up signal, and as I fold the papers up and pocket them he smiles brilliantly at me. Yet as he turns away I smile for myself, shoving my hands into my pockets as I walk away.

After all, after everything Ike's done for me, I owe him at least this.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Gay?" Stan asked as he found himself being looked upon quite intensely. "Why does it matter?" Stan and Kyle were in Kyle's living room, the house completely to themselves as they had just finished watching a movie. Within seconds after ending Kyle had posed the question, catching Stan quite off guard._

"_Well…. I dunno. It just feels wrong…. Don't get me wrong, Stan. I'm not homophobic or anything. But I just...I just can't grasp the concept of me being like this."_

"_Being like what?" asked the boy curiously._

"_G… g…."_

"_Really, who cares dude?" said Stan incredulously. "I don't see why you're so bugged about it. If you love another guy then you love another guy. Why should anyone else care?—they aren't living your life." He patted Kyle on the back as he stood up, fitting on his coat as he stretched out his limbs. "So then you're…"_

"_Yeah," Kyle muttered under his breath. "You don't mind, do you?"_

"_Not really," said Stan, patting Kyle on the back once more. "You're still the same best friend to me, you know."_

"_Of course…." It hadn't _quite_ been the reaction he'd been expecting from Stan, but admittedly it was a lot better than what he had in mind…. There was an odd silence afterward, one that neither boy could really explain, and as Stan began pacing slowly around the couch Kyle stood up to stretch._

"_You're coming with us tomorrow, right?" Stan asked the Jewish boy._

"_Yeah," Kyle replied slowly. "You mean ice skating?"_

"_Yep," said Stan, smiling. "It's gonna be great. The four of us at Stark's Pond for hours and hours…. Promise me you'll have fun, okay?"_

"_Sure," muttered Kyle._

_Stan eyed him curiously. "You _sure_ you're okay, dude? You really are out of it."_

"_I'm fine," Kyle replied. "I'm meeting Kenny at Shakey's Pizza in about an hour or so. I'm gonna see if he can help me and such."_

"_Not me?" Stan asked quietly. "I offered to help many times before…." Kyle frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. What would Stan said if he learned _he_ was his problem? Kyle had already gone as far as telling Stan his orientation, just to see if he even had a chance at success, and while he hadn't asked Stan about his own orientation at least he knew he would be tolerant…. _

"_But he's more experienced in this problem," Kyle said as his excuse, earning an odd expression from his friend. "If he can't help me I'll come to you. Sounds cool?"_

"_Sure, I guess. As long as you're getting help, I suppose." He walked over to the door and sighed, stepping into his boots as he gripped Kyle's door handle. "You sure you're gonna be fine?"_

"_Yeah, dude." Kyle walked over to the door to send his friend off, making his way slowly as his hands remained in his pickets. Liking this boy, in his mind, was still a bad decision, but indeed there would be no turning back now…. Eventually, Kyle could tell, his friendship with Stanley Marsh would go down the drain, if not now than later. "See you tomorrow, then?"_

_Stan nodded as he opened the door, letting in the refreshing breeze inside. "Yeah."_

- - - - - - - - - -

I once had this dream.

I don't remember all the details of it, just as any person would. Naturally, people tend to forget dreams within a few days, and even if it was anything remotely important to them they'll soon find themselves forgetting the specifics. The same applied in my case; however, what I do remember is enough.

I remember being at a restaurant. My mind wants to tell me it's Shakey's Pizza, but somehow I feel as if everything happens to occur there. I remember there being five of us—me, Kenny, Cartman, Craig, and Stan—but what we had initially been doing I don't remember. I do remember that in a table of four I had been the odd one out, having had to pull a chair to the end of the booth.

I remember the five of us eating mass amounts while talking loudly with our mouths full, all taking a considerable amount of time in my head. There had been three pizzas on our table, though I only remember one being cheese. Most likely one of the other two was Cartman's specially made pizza pie, but I don't remember what the third's toppings were.

Not that I needed to. But what I remembered most….

"Hey guys," Stan had said, raising his hand to catch our attention. "Hey, I have something to announce." We didn't quickly settle, however, and I remember staring at a frustrated Stan as Cartman continued to blabber and blabber of things no one really cared about. No one was really listening to him, either; then again, no one ever did.

"What's up?" asked Kenny, setting his utensils down so they clattered against his plate; why he needed utensils for pizza I don't know.

"Well…" began Stan, turning to the boy beside him; "you know that Craig and I've been dating each other for a year now, right?" Perhaps the one thing I remember most from that dream is how easily I was able to listen to Stan speak, not even feeling a trace of sadness or anger inside of me. Then again it could only be a dream, but the Kyle in my dreams was the Kyle I wish I had been…. "We've been talking it over some time…"

"About…?" asked Craig, and the Kyle in my dream realized Craig was clueless about what would come next.

"Craig," began Stan once more, rising out of his seat and going down on his knees. "Will you marry me?" However cliché of a dream it had been the other boy had accepted. Everyone around us applauded the two as they quickly found themselves in each other's grasp, Kenny hooting as Stan placed a ring onto one of Craig's fingers.

I suppose I know why I've remembered this dream, and it's probably not because I keep having it at least once every week. No, it's because of the Kyle that had been in that dream. Even now I'm still quite fragile on that subject, even weeks after that conversation with Stan. Resulting from that I haven't talked to him for a good three weeks, and I suppose all I really want is to be like the Kyle in my dreams—a Kyle who doesn't break down pathetically when his ex-boyfriend's name is mentioned in conjunction with another guy's name, a Kyle who can selflessly applaud the success of another's marriage without feeling regrets on the inside, a Kyle who can later congratulate his ex-boyfriend on his engagement without engaging into a heated argument, a Kyle who can sleep soundly in his bed knowing that there's no changing life's path now.

But the real me's doing anything but that. Even though no such marriage is occurring, I know I'll find myself hesitant in applauding the day Stan or Craig proposes. I already do break down in the solitude of my bedroom whenever I think of Craig and Stan. Hell, I probably won't even attend his wedding in fear of ruining Stan's happiest moment of his life.

And as I'm staring up at the bumps on my bedroom's ceiling I know I'm doing anything but sleeping soundly. The last time I glanced at my clock it was two in the morning, and by now I'm sure it's past four. It's been like this for some time now; either I would never sleep, or my body would relent to the bodily necessities of sleep and send me into the dream I so readily remember by now. Yet the think about this is that I'm still dwelling over the same things; for almost a month, even before the argument that caused me to not talk to him, I had been disturbed essentially by the same thing.

I want Stan. Even now, after everything I've suffered through, I still feel as if Stan's the answer. But who am I kidding?—I know by now he's done nothing except make my situation worse. I've resolved countless times to not go back to him, yet what did I do?—anything except that.

I glance over at my table, a thriving bouquet of gardenias standing quite prominently in the gloom of the night. It only reminds me of Stan; I know I'll never be able to dissociate that flower in my mind from thinking of him. How he had given me a bouquet on my birthday ages ago, how he had associated it to marriage, how I had given him the same kind of lower on his own birthday, how he had give it back…. How it had ended back on my desk….

I stand up from my bed and approach the table. At the same time I remember that flower helping me; some time ago Ike had given me questions to answer for his article, and throughout the night I spent answering them I constantly looked at that flower. Why I did that I'm not even sure now, but somehow I found condolence in it.

I pick up a flower from the bouquet and look around the room. In this room I had spent an hour or so in a rampage, asking no one in particular why I had liked Stan to begin with. I remember completely out of my mind, but I also remember feeling as if I had made a bad decision. It's so hard to believe that that simple thing would've changed my life completely. This feeling with Stan would be completely gone; a regret of going to Harvard would not exist. But in the end, would it really change my life _that_ much?—wouldn't there just be another man or woman in Stan's place instead?

I peel a large petal off the gardenia as I find my way back to the edge of my bed. This room had also been where Kenny had talked to me about asking Stan, where Kyle had fretted before his first date, where Stan had given him his birthday present, where Stan had officially asked him to be his boyfriend, where the two had made hypothetical situations of their relationship, and so much more.

I peel off another petal as I look out the window. Somehow peeling this flower apart seems relieving, and as I peel off yet another petal I still can't explain why.

_He loves me_.

I pause abruptly at the thought, biting my lip as I sigh. That was probably it. I look toward the floor to see how many I've already peeled: three.

I peel a fourth and sigh, looking at the window once more.

_He loves me not._

_He loves me. _I don't want to look at the flower as I peel it apart. Looking at the flower will give me hints as to what the final result will be, and somehow I don't want that. I've a fifty-fifty chance of peeling the petal of my choice…

_He loves me not_. There's a noise somewhere in my room, but I can't quite place what it is; so instead I choose to ignore it.

_He loves me. _It's only after the third time I hear it that I stand up abruptly, looking around the room for the source of the sound. It's only after the fourth time when I realize it's coming from the window.

_He loves me not._

"Kyle, come down here!" Stan yells in as much of a hushed voice as he can muster. "I know we haven't talked in a while… but I have something I really wanna tell you, and…." This is it, I suppose…. Right now, I'll find out if I'll be able to talk to him properly… I'll find out if I can truly be the Kyle in my dreams.

But the flower?—I quickly peel petals off, doing a faster rendition of the game, but as I unlock my bedroom door and stuff my feet into slippers my heart plummets to no return.

But how could I possibly be surprised?—he loves me not.

- - - - - - - - - -

"_Spiderman 3?" Kyle asked as he and the boy beside him entered his house. In the distance he could hear his mother cooking something, but other than that the house seemed relatively quiet—perfect conditions for watching a movie. In fact, as the two were in their last semester of high school, watching movies at Kyle's house after school had become a daily habit._

"_Simpsons, definitely."_

"_We already watched that."_

"_Come on, Kyle, it was funny!"_

"_No it wasn't. Now Spiderman it is." Stan gave a relented sigh as he gave into Kyle's demands. He suddenly found Kyle walking at a much faster pace than his own, quickly fast-walking to the DVD player to pop in the movie. Stan sighed, giving the boy a final plea for his desired movie, but the Jewish boy would not be swayed. He flopped onto the familiar couch as Kyle joined him minutes afterward, reaching over for the remote._

"_Better pull your shirt all the way down, Kyle."_

"_Better stop looking, Stan. My mom's in the next room."_

"_I know. All the more…"_

"_Kie-yole!" The Jewish boy jumped into his seat, turning his head toward the kitchen surprised as he peered at his mother's frowning face. "Bubee, you came home without greeting your mother?"_

"_Hi, ma."_

"_Hello," she said, turning soon after to Stan. After nodding at him she glanced at her son. "There's mail for you on the table, dear."_

"_Oh? Who's it from?"_

"_Just look at it, you'll find out." Kyle frowned, shooting an awkward and confused glance at the raven-haired boy beside him. Perhaps he had been seeking a second opinion on the matter, but all he had gotten in reply was an equally lost glance._

"_Now or after the movie?"_

"_Now," answered Stan, grabbing the remote. "It'll only take a few seconds to read, right?"_

"_Yeah." Kyle nodded as he stood up, glancing at Stan once before approaching the table. Stan watched the boy from afar—how he slowly approached the table, how he fingered the hem of his shirt, how he had picked up the letter into his fidgeting hands, and how he had dropped it quite suddenly._

"_You okay?" Stan asked him, but Kyle didn't respond. He slowly picked it up once more, inspecting it front and back before shaking his head. "Kyle?"_

_But he left. Stan immediately rose up, brushing past a confused Mrs. Broflovski as he climbed flights of stairs, trying to catch up to his friend. But Kyle had already had a head start, and by the time Stan reached the boy's bedroom he was already situated at the edge of his bed._

"_Are you crying?" Stan asked as he sat down beside the boy; hiccups and hitched breath had been his reply. "Don't cry…"—but Stan got anything but that. He slung his arm around the Jewish boy's shoulders, squeezing the boy occasionally as he hiccupped in the presence of tears. In the red-haired boy's hand was a dampened Kleenex tissue, soaked in salty years and fragile from it dampness; and with his other hand he held firmly the piece of paper, blotched with red ink from stray tears. "Dude, Kyle…."_

"_I'm leaving," the boy said simply, causing Stan to hesitate slightly. "Stan, I'm leaving."_

"_No shit, I think I've figured that much." Stan's wrapped arm trembled slightly but it had remained at that—now would not be the time to show Kyle his dislike for Kyle's acceptance letter to Harvard. "Unless you plan on spending that much money to fly back home on a daily basis, of course you're leaving."_

"_But you…. You don't want me to leave, though…."_

"_Of course I don't," Stan said, smirking at Kyle as he looked at him confusedly. "That doesn't mean I'm not happy for you."_

"_You don't look it."_

"_Neither do you." Stan chuckled as Kyle directed his gaze toward the stained paper and took a deep sigh. "You know, some dream of yours it must've been if you're crying like this."_

"_I really want to go," whined Kyle, tapping his foot against the floor and his fingers against the bed._

"_Then go."_

"_But you—!" Kyle glanced up in exasperation at Stan's statement, even going as far as raising a pointed finger at the raven-haired boy. "You don't want me to go!"_

"_So?" asked Stan. "Do you think it really matters what I think about this?"_

"…_yes?"_

_Stan grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he let go of Kyle. "If it's really what you want then I'll learn to get over it."_

"_Stan—"_

"_But I mean, I really love you," continued Stan, standing up abruptly; "and I know that you might not love me as much as I've somehow managed to love you. But still, dude. I care enough for you that we'll make this relationship work, even at such a far distance away from each other." Kyle looked at the boy for several minutes, almost as if he was studying his gaze, and as he sighed yet again he shook his head. Stan frowned—in which he only got one in return—and it wasn't long before he found himself inquiring Kyle of his doings._

"_You aren't okay with this," he declared at last, shaking his head all the more. "I can tell you don't like the idea that I'm going to Harvard."_

"_I know," muttered Stan. "I'm afraid that this thing between us will… fall apart… if you move away."_

"_I promise it won't," said Kyle, giving Stan thumbs up. "I won't let it ruin us. I won't be at peace until you can accept my going to Harvard fully. Just give me a try…"_

_Stan sighed, remaining silent for a good amount of time; but when the moment came that he did make a response it was satisfactory enough for both boys: "If it's really what you want, I'll learn to get over it."_

* * *

I'm not sure what to say about this chapter. It's a bit different than the others, much more reflective and barely any present-time scenes. 

I'm sorry for the seemingly-random flashbacks. They'll come more into play next chapter when something else happens...

Next chapter is even worse, though. The flashbacks are entirely different than how you're used to seeing them. But whatever, you'll figure it out I'm sure.

Writing this chapter was excruciating. I have no idea why, but it definitely was. So, I'm quite pleased it's finally over, but at the same time I feel bad because I think it's crap.

To my lovely reviewers... (I'm not doing all of them. If you reviewed know that I GREATLY appreciate it still):  
**facepalm** (What _is_ predictable in this story anymore, anyway? Yeah I know, you're probably thinking "a lot, actually," but who knows. Remember that the story is labeled style, so who knows what the ending'll be...). **Fay D Flourite** (I definitely use Fai... but I do hope you feel better soon. And yes, I wish Kenny taught all of my classes. God knows how hideous some of my current teachers look). **cjmarie** (definitely assholism, yes. But don't think that's ended there. You'll see so much assholism by the time this ends that it'll HAVE to be added as a new word in the dictionary)**Ren85** (Thank you! And yeah, those flashbacks were extremely sad, not quite what we're all used to. But within the next chapter or so you'll be seeing more of those...). **Phoenix II** (I definitely pwned your face. But I like the lightning idea; and no, that's not right. Though I do believe you were quite close to the actual answer. Think over it, maybe.) **PP. Bunny** (neither do I! Of course, I do know what the overall ending is, but for the sake of the readers I won't say. But I'm completely leaning against the two being together, mainly because the couple's so overly done...).

I'm pulling up an April Fool's Day joke soon... watch out for that one.

**-Zak-**


	19. Memories Toward an Inevitable Future

This is one of the not-as-important chapters. In commemoration for the second last chapter of (PART ONE!) and in commemoration for the last chapter (chapter 20) to have flashbacks, this chapter is basically a continuous chapter of Kyle's life combined. Though, there are some extras in here, so you might want to keep an eye out.

No, I have NOT abandoned this story yet. Despite how many people wish I would.

_Forever we will keep our memories  
forever we will hold them  
but of all things we must not forget  
to keep them from destroying our lives._

_**Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
**_**Chapter Nineteen**

_In the distance a pair of teenaged boys walked in the frigid air, mitten-covered hands stuffed into winter coats as they slowly made their way through the snow and into warmer grounds. Yet for a destination as that their walking pace was incredibly slow, almost to the point where it seemed like they barely even wanted to go there._

_As they walked under a streetlamp their apparel became clearer to see. They were dressed the same, basically, though with slight differences. One boy wore a blue hat, topped off with a red ball of light material; while the other wore a green hat known as an ushanka. Under the blue hat was straight, thin, raven hair, contrasting greatly from the thick curly locks of crimson of the other boy. Still, as both boys passed from under the light and entered the night sky's gloom once more the two clothing styles appeared almost the same._

"_You sure you're okay, Kyle?" asked the raven-haired boy, tilting his head slightly to view the other boy's face in the dark._

"_For the seventeenth time, Stan, I'm perfectly okay," snapped Kyle, digging his hands all the more into his pockets. "What's making you think I'm not all right?"_

"_Well, you aren't talking," Stan muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "You haven't been since we left Cartman and Kenny. Plus you keep staring at me for no reason, kinda like you were mad at me or something."_

"_I'm fine," said Kyle, turning red, and it had been times like those that Kyle was grateful for nighttime. "I'm just cold…. That's all."_

"_You want my scarf?" asked Stan, motioning to untie a red scarf before being stopped by the red-haired boy._

"_I'm okay, thanks," Kyle replied, nudging his head over to his house. "I'm almost home, anyway."_

"_Okay." The two continued to walk in silence, letting the cool air set into their rosy cheeks as they eventually found themselves at Kyle's front door. Under the porch light they could see just how red their skin was becoming and how each boy clearly felt frigid from South Park's winter conditions. "Get some rest, okay?"_

"_Yeah, dude…. You too." Stan nodded, and Kyle watched him as he slowly turned away, making his way toward his own home. He stared for quite some time, watching Stan's figure disappear into the darkness of the night—and even the nothingness for minutes after—but it was at least another ten minutes in the frozen weather before he even made an attempt to enter the door._

"_Kie-yole!" exclaimed a highly-pitched woman's voice the minute he stepped foot into the house. "Kie-yole, where have you been? Quick, get yourself over to the fire before you freeze into an ice statue!"_

"_I'll be upstairs, ma," muttered the boy, quite tired from his activities that day. His mother sighed and stepped forward, but she made no attempt to stopping her son from disobeying her and walking up to his room. From the fire Kyle's adopted brother Ike frowned, glancing from the stairs to his mother and back to the stairs once more. He gave a sigh, shaking off the sudden thought before turning back to the fire._

_The minute Kyle locked the door behind him he crashed into his bed, burying his head into his arms as he found his breath to slowly begin hitching in between the imminent tears. "Why?" he muttered under his breath, feeling the moist arms that cradled his sobbing head. "Is this… is this normal?" _

_He closed his eyes for a brief moment, perhaps to think of something or someone; but the minute he closed them they shot right back open, and he trembled on the spot. "I can't like him…. I just can't. He's a boy…. I'm a boy…. There's no way… no way this is normal." He struck his fist quite firmly onto the pillow on his bed, withdrawing it quickly before pounding his head onto it soon after._

_It seemed like he wasn't ready to accept what he was feeling. Poor Kyle Broflovski, son to a narrow-minded Jewish family, a boy who couldn't grasp the idea of him being remotely homosexual. Yet even if he wasn't ready to accept it for himself the signs were slowly becoming more obvious; he stared consistently at his friend without meaning to, he found himself dreaming of him in fantastical ways, and seeing him in the halls frequently sent him into a world of thought and confusion._

"_You don't like him," Kyle told himself, but each time he said it he only found more and more tears flowing down his cheeks. "You don't like him…. Damnit, Kyle Broflovski, you don't like him!" He picked up his pillow and threw it across the room, watching it as he landed into a heap atop his pile of laundry. He glanced angrily around the room, eyes chancing upon a small picture of the two in a photo booth. Each of the four frames showed the two in a different, goofy pose, yet each one seemed to drive him more and more off the edge._

"_I can't love him…" Kyle's voice echoed one last time, yet as he repeated the sentence he found his facial expression changing slightly. "…can I?" The question lingered in the air as he glanced once more at the four pictures, the Jewish boy biting his lip hard as he stared at the boy that plagued his unconscious hours. Could he love that boy?—was it possible in the end?_

"_I'll give it a try," Kyle muttered, turning away from the picture as he left to pick up the pillow he had just thrown. He wouldn't be able to know for sure unless he tried, right? _

_But where to next? He had no idea how he'd be getting around this ordeal. He was book-smart, yes, but beyond that he wasn't the most creative and intelligent of people. Asking him straight out would be an idea, but that'd be the more awkward of ideas…._

"_I'll talk to Kenny about it," Kyle decided at last, making a note to himself to call the boy later for help. But until then, what would he do? Regardless the method he'd overcome his challenge, however, as he settled down onto his bed to sleep over his slight dilemma he couldn't help but feel as if he had just made the worst decision of his life yet._

- - - - - - - - -

"_Gay?" Stan asked as he found himself being looked upon quite intensely. "Why does it matter?" Stan and Kyle were in Kyle's living room, the house completely to themselves as they had just finished watching a movie. Within seconds after ending Kyle had posed the question, catching Stan quite off guard._

"_Well…. I dunno. It just feels wrong…. Don't get me wrong, Stan. I'm not homophobic or anything. But I just...I just can't grasp the concept of me being like this." In the end Kyle had chosen to at least tell Stan of his orientation. Yet in a way he felt as if it hadn't been entirely accurate of a statement—did he really know he was gay?—or just infatuated with Stan?_

"_Being like what?" asked the boy curiously._

"_G… g…."_

"_Really, who cares dude?" said Stan incredulously. "I don't see why you're so bugged about it. If you love another guy then you love another guy. Why should anyone else care?—they aren't living your life." He patted Kyle on the back as he stood up, fitting on his coat as he stretched out his limbs. "So then you're…"_

"_Yeah," Kyle muttered under his breath. "You don't mind, do you?"_

"_Not really," said Stan, patting Kyle on the back once more. "You're still the same best friend to me, you know."_

"_Of course…." It hadn't quite been the reaction he'd been expecting from Stan, but admittedly it was a lot better than what he had in mind…. There was an odd silence afterward, one that neither boy could really explain, and as Stan began pacing slowly around the couch Kyle stood up to stretch._

"_You're coming with us tomorrow, right?" Stan asked the Jewish boy._

"_Yeah," Kyle replied slowly. "You mean ice skating?"_

"_Yep," said Stan, smiling. "It's gonna be great. The four of us at Stark's Pond for hours and hours…. Promise me you'll have fun, okay?"_

"_Sure," muttered Kyle._

_Stan eyed him curiously. "You sure you're okay, dude? You really are out of it."_

"_I'm fine," Kyle replied. "I'm meeting Kenny at Shakey's Pizza in about an hour or so. I'm gonna see if he can help me and such."_

"_Not me?" Stan asked quietly. "I offered to help many times before…." Kyle frowned, shoving his hands into his pockets. What would Stan said if he learned he was his problem? Kyle had already gone as far as telling Stan his orientation, just to see if he even had a chance at success, and while he hadn't asked Stan about his own orientation at least he knew he would be tolerant…. _

"_But he's more experienced in this problem," Kyle said as his excuse, earning an odd expression from his friend. "If he can't help me I'll come to you. Sounds cool?"_

"_Sure, I guess. As long as you're getting help, I suppose." He walked over to the door and sighed, stepping into his boots as he gripped Kyle's door handle. "You sure you're gonna be fine?"_

"_Yeah, dude." Kyle walked over to the door to send his friend off, making his way slowly as his hands remained in his pickets. Liking this boy, in his mind, was still a bad decision, but indeed there would be no turning back now…. Eventually, Kyle could tell, his friendship with Stanley Marsh would go down the drain, if not now than later. "See you tomorrow, then?"_

_Stan nodded as he opened the door, letting in the refreshing breeze inside. "Yeah."_

- - - - - - - - -

"_So hit me with what you've got," said Kenny as he took a bite into his pizza slice. The two were alone at Shakey's Pizza, seated cattycorner to each other with personal pan pizzas in front of them. Kenny's long blonde bangs draped over his eyes as he bit into his pizza, setting it down not too long afterward as strings of cheese connected the food with his hungry mouth. Across him Kyle Broflovski was much more hesitant in eating, noticeable probably by the way his pizza remained untouched, and the Jewish boy had been fiddling with his fingers as if swamped with plaguing manners of his own—hence, their purpose of meeting._

"_It's a long story," Kyle muttered, running a hand through his curly locks as he rested his head on his palm. "I'm not sure if I want to go over all the specifics."_

"_Just tell me the important stuff," said Kenny, taking a sip of his drink. "Man, this pizza's good…"_

"_Okay then," said Kyle, frowning as he raised his other hand to scratch his chin. "Basically… I like one of my good friends and I don't know how to tell hi—her."_

"_Him," said Kenny, smiling at a shocked Kyle. "And I'm almost positive you're talking about Stan."_

"_But how…?" yet Kyle didn't need to finish his question. He supposed his liking had been quite obvious for his wanting… There'd be no use in asking further. "So… I need your help."_

"_You think I can help?" Kenny asked incredulously as Kyle nodded._

"_You're really good with this kind of stuff, dude!" Kenny sighed as the Jewish boy continued to plead; it wasn't often Kyle was sucking up to someone and the blonde boy felt almost privileged at the thought of it. Most especially with Eric Cartman Kyle would never go as far as to beg for help. "Come on, Kenny… you know you want to help."_

"_Okay, so tell me all of this again," muttered Kenny as he took another slice of his pizza. "You like Stan, but he has absolutely no clue you like him?" Of course, half of the statement Kyle hadn't actually said in person, but Kenny was good like that—he could sense things without them needing to be said._

"_Yeah, like that. I guess I don't know how to tell him that I like him."_

"_How would I be any good in helping?" asked Kenny, sighing as he placed his pizza back onto his plate. "I'm not gay… I've never liked a guy before."_

"_Well, you've liked girls before," reasoned Kyle, head still leaning against his hand as he stared into the slice of pizza still untouched in front of him. "And, you said you've asked girls on dates in the past."_

"_Oh!" exclaimed Kenny, pointing his finger at nothing in particular. "You actually want to ask him on a date? I thought you just wanted to tell him you liked him…"_

"_Both, I guess," said Kyle, deciding that if he wasn't going to bite into his pizza he'd at least have a sip of his milkshake. "I have no idea what to do… can you help me?"_

"_Well, normally I'd say I would," sighed Kenny, tapping his fingers on the table. "But I'm not really sure how it's like asking a guy."_

"_It shouldn't be that much different!" Kyle exclaimed, leaning back into his chair. "The only difference really is the gender… Besides, don't you know Stan well enough to have some sort of an idea?"_

"_I guess," muttered Kenny. "What'd you want me to do?"_

"_I dunno," said Kyle. "I thought you'd tell me that." Kyle bit his lip as he looked out the window. His crush on Stan had been bothering him for such a long time now… While he wanted to make sure his friendship with Stan remained the way it was, at the same time he _really_ wanted Stan to know about his feelings…_

"_Here's what I'll do," said Kenny, straightening his posture. "I'll help you talk to Stan—I'll give you an excuse to squeeze a moment to tell him, okay?"_

"_But what will I say?" Kyle asked._

"_Just be you," said Kenny, smiling at the Jewish boy. "Be yourself. Everything else should come naturally."_

"_Come out naturally?" asked Kyle, but Kenny only shushed him._

"_You know what I mean," said Kenny, smiling. "Come on, dude, don't stress about it. Why don't you save Stan for later and focus on eating that pizza, huh?"_

"_You can have it," Kyle said, pushing the plate toward him. "I'm thirstier at the moment anyway."_

"_You sure?" Kenny asked, but the response hadn't come until Kyle removed himself from his straw._

"_Positive." He smiled at the blonde boy as he watched him eat his slice, and as he thought of what he'd do about Stan he allowed himself another sip of his drink. "Ah, fuck!—brain freeze!"_

- - - - - - - - -

_One of the things the four boys enjoyed most was skating on the frozen Stark's Pond._

_Well, they enjoyed tobogganing down snowy slopes the most, but since ice skating was so much easier to do they normally found them doing that instead. They would skate for hours—sometimes even the whole day—and though originally they walked to the pond quite happy and energetic, by the time they were done they had almost no energy to even return home—especially Eric._

"_Let's _try_ leaving when we're not absolutely exhausted," suggested Eric, and the group nodded._

"_We wouldn't want fatass collapsing on the ice in exhaustion anyway—there wouldn't be any ice left to skate on."_

"_Hey! Shut up, Jewboy." Kenny laughed as he sat onto the snowy ground to place his skates. Kyle took a glance at the blonde-haired boy and Kenny smiled in Kyle's direction as he looked back. Supposedly, Kyle reminded himself, today would be the day Kenny would help him…_

"_Tell me you guys are ready now," said Kenny as he finished putting on his skates. Kyle looked down at his own feet, having already dressed them with his skates; but as he turned to Stan and Eric he sighed—perhaps he and Kenny were just too fast… "Here, Kyle, let's just start without them. They can catch up."_

"_But wouldn't—?" but after catching the glint in Kenny's eye Kyle nodded, taking off into the ice after Kenny. The pond itself was fairly big—enough for the two boys to skate a far distance and still be out of earshot from their friends._

"_I figured I'd tell you what I'm gonna do," said Kenny._

"_Of course," replied Kyle. He watched Kenny nod at him, but it was only after several seconds did he realize… "Uh, Kenny? Plan on talking?"_

"_Oh yeah, uh… I dunno. I really didn't plan on anything. Just be ready when I randomly toss the situation into your hands, I guess."_

"_Gee, thanks. I wonder why I even thought you had a plan to begin with." Kenny laughed as he turned on his heel, and before Kyle could talk to him about anything else he was gone. It wouldn't be long, Kyle knew, before he'd have to face his problem._

"_An ice cream truck!" yelled a small boy, and immediately the majority of the kids left to buy the desired treat. Kyle had chosen to stay in the pond mainly because he hadn't been so good at walking on snow with his skates on—and glancing at the rest of the kids it appeared they didn't either._

"_Hey dude," said a voice, causing Kyle to spin on the spot quite suddenly. "Want something?"_

"_Sure… but I don't have money." Kyle inverted his empty pockets to influence his point, but that hadn't seemed to faze Stan the least bit._

"_I'll buy," said Stan. "My treat."_

"_Stan, you don't have to."—but the boy fled anyway. Kyle sighed and returned to his paces, admiring the sun as he made his way around the edge of the pond. It felt warm and wonderful that particular day, yet Kyle really had no explanation as to why._

"_Kyle!" Kyle stopped once more to glance back at the truck, the raven-haired boy smiling madly as he goofily made his way back to the pond._

"_Hey… Stan…" The Jewish boy looked away as he took the ice cream sandwich from the boy's hand, not wanting to make eye contact with him. "…Thanks."_

"_Are you skating by yourself?" Stan asked. "Dude, we came here as a group, right…? There's time for solitude later!"_

"_But Stan—!" protested Kyle, but Stan merely smiled, and before Kyle could protest any further the raven-haired boy grabbed him by his wrist, dragging him along the ice as he skated forward. Eventually Kyle gave in, kicking his skates to allow himself to skate freely beside his friend. "Fine dude, I'll skate with you. But what, do you wanna race or something?"_

"_Nah, maybe later," Stan said, looking at the space in front of him. "I just wanna relax for now… leisure skating, I guess."_

"_You need me to do that?" Kyle asked, and Stan nodded._

"_Sure, dude. It's really pleasing for me to hear your voice, as weird as that sounds. I mean, it's like I can't really feel angry when I'm around you." He turned to Kyle, who looked away with a slightly confused face, but Stan only laughed. "Well, I'm not really sure what I mean either, so I dunno."_

"_I can sorta see what you mean," said Kyle. Yet as they continued to skate the only thing Kyle could think of was, 'Come on Kenny… help me here…'_

"_Yeah… sorry for my random statement there…" Kyle could hear their conversation crumble apart, the silence after each sentence growing increasingly longer, and the degree of awkwardness only increasing. They continued to skate, but it was only when they made a turn at the end of the pond did Kyle realize why he felt as awkward as he did._

"_Stan… I'm skating on my own already… You don't need to hold my hand still." Stan turned to the boy and looked at the gap between them, and as he noticed this he quickly drew back, leaving a very red Kyle deprived of contact._

"_Sorry dude," Stan apologized quickly, looking away. "Man, I really suck at life today…"_

"_No you don't," Kyle muttered quickly, but as Stan turned to him curiously he felt himself turn red. "I mean… You don't…"_

"_No, that's fine… thanks." Stan smiled as he looked toward the sky. "I guess this is why I like you as my friend… You're there to support me, and you pretty much like me for who I am."_

"_Pretty much." Another turn around the pond… where _was_ Kenny?—and Eric, for that matter. It'd be a perfect time to tell the boy, Kyle figured, but… He wanted to wait for Kenny to help him, to give him that opportune moment, but where was he…? Should he just tell Stan now?—or wait for Kenny? "So, uh… Stan?"_

"_Yeah?" Kyle found himself coming to a halt, and as he watched Stan spin around in front of him he began trembling. He knew he could do it—well not really, but he believed he could—but as Stan approached him his determination began faltering—he needed Kenny._

_But he didn't want to wait for him any longer._

"_Why'd you stop?" Stan asked, frowning slightly as he came to a halt in front of him. "Don't make me drag you along again."_

"_No it's not that," muttered Kyle, looking away._

_Stan tilted his head and placed a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "You okay, dude?"_

"_Yeah, sorta…"_

"_Stop lying, Kyle… Tell me." Kyle sighed as he tried raising his head to meet Stan's gaze. A hypothetical approach?—or a direct answer? It was questions like these that Kyle had hoped Kenny would answer for him… But there was no Kenny to aid him—only himself._

"_If I said something that upset you… how mad would you be at me?" Hypothetical approach?—not really, but it wasn't exactly direct either…_

"_Like I said earlier," Stan replied, patting his hand on Kyle's back; "I can't really be mad when I'm around you…"_

"_Even if I joked around and told you your mother died?"_

"_Nah, dude. I'd just take it like you were joking or something." Kyle nodded, taking a deep sigh. Like he was "joking"?—would he then think that Kyle was joking once Kyle told Stan he… liked him._

_There was definitely a distinguished silence amongst them, somewhere between Stan's confused self and the nervous Kyle he was still holding on to. They were probably receiving odd stares from the people around them, but both were too rapt in the affairs between them that neither seemed to notice. Kenny would've been no help at this point, since he had opted to only help him talk to Stan and not to help him actually confess; yet Kyle still wished that the blonde-boy could help him out somehow…_

"_I—I…"_

"_Say it, dude… It'll feel much better once you've gotten it off your chest." Kyle took another deep breath, turning away as he felt Stan looking at him all the more. It only took so much to tell him… but would he be ready to deal with the resulting consequences…? "I'm… I'm sorry, Kyle. I shouldn't be forcing you to tell me whatever it is you want to tell me."_

"_Huh?" Kyle asked, quite confused at Stan's change in voiced thought._

"_Well, I just thought… I just find it weird that you just… changed attitudes suddenly, and I really wanted to know why… but if you're uncomfortable telling me I understand."_

"_No—No!" Kyle exclaimed suddenly, startling Stan. "I really wanna tell you… It's just…"_

"_Just say it," said Stan, squeezing Kyle's shoulder once more. Maybe the renewed contact was making Kyle nervous once more… "It's not like I'm gonna judge you or anything…"_

"_You promise?" Kyle asked, and Stan nodded._

"_Yeah, dude." Kyle sighed, nodding slowly. He looked at Stan, who was smiling encouragingly at him, and as he took another deep breath he opened his mouth._

"_I think… I think I like you, Stan." His gaze immediately turned away as he finished his rather short statement, and as he felt himself turn red he didn't even want to know what Stan thought of him. He could already feel tears coming, and as he felt a salty tear run down his check he knew he would need many Kleenexes that night—he knew the result wouldn't be good._

_Actions do speak louder than words, as Kyle found out the hard way. Even as neither boy made any attempt to say anything, Kyle already knew Stan's current emotion. As he held back tears he felt Stan let go of his shoulder, and merely staring toward the ground told him that Stan was backing away. He made a half-hearted attempt to look at Stan, and though his face didn't show any signs of anger it was still clear that he was confused. He watched Stan back away, he watched him shake his head, and he watched him skate in the opposite direction, leaving Kyle alone in the middle of the lake._

_Kyle was right; Stan was wrong. Even if Kyle didn't have any tangible proof that Stan really hated him, his actions had spoken enough._

- - - - - - - - -

"_Kyle, you have to get out of there sometime…" The blonde boy outside Kyle's room knocked on the door once more, but hearing the same response only caused him to sigh once more. He bent down and took a seat on the floor outside his door—he wanted Kyle to open up and let him in, but Kyle didn't seem to want to._

_On the other side was a rather silent boy, sitting along the edge of his bed wrapped in his own blankets—Kyle. His eyes were red, his cheeks stained with a salty liquid, and his shirt stained. He had obviously been crying, and as Kenny continued to pound on his door he only found himself suppressing even more tears. It wasn't that he was overly upset with Stan's answer—he had been expecting some sort of a no anyway—but he was depressed how the result had came about, how he had merely left him, and how it seemed to have ruined their friendship. Kyle was convinced that even if they had remained friends he wouldn't have minded, but at that moment that clearly wasn't the case—he hated having this unwanted tension between Stan and himself._

"_Kyle, let me in, at least," said Kenny from the other side of the door. "Don't you want to talk about it at least?"_

"_There's nothing to fucking talk about!"_

"_Clearly," Kenny muttered sarcastically. "Seriously, Kyle, maybe it's something I can help you with?" The blonde boy sighed, pounding his head against the door once more, and as he let out a restrained sigh of frustration he noticed the sounds of footsteps._

"_Kenny?" said a small voice, and as Kenny turned to the stairs he caught sight of Ike. "Why are you outside Kyle's room like that?"_

"_He won't let me in," replied Kenny, but before Ike could reply a much larger voice erupted from inside the room._

"Help_ me? You think you can _help_ me with this, Kenny? Just how you said you'd help me with telling Stan? But where were you, Kenny? Where were you when I told him, huh? Where were you when I fucking told him I liked him?"—and as Ike took a step backward Kyle added—"Where were you when he left me and our friendship?"_

"_Kyle's g—?" started Ike, but Kenny held a finger and he grew quiet._

"_Okay, for one thing, Kyle Broflovski, I_ did_ help you. _I_ told him you were skating alone, _I_ told him to skate with you—you think I didn't help you?" There was a silence for several moments as Ike continued to stand back with a confused gaze, and as Kenny's gaze remained fixed at the door the sounds of Kyle stuttering became audible. After some time Kyle's door opened, and as Kyle peered his head outside his door Kenny smiled at him._

"_Y-y-you did?"_

"_Yeah, dude, I told you I'd help." Kyle smiled nervously, opening the door wider for the blonde boy to enter his room. He glanced upward, noticing Ike standing there; and as his younger brother bit his lip Kyle stepped forward to talk to his brother._

"_How long have you been here?" he asked, his tone being much calmer now._

"_Not too long," replied Ike. "Though I did hear you say…"_

"_Continue," encouraged Kyle._

"_When you said you liked Stan…" Kyle sighed, looking away. So his brother knew now… But as he looked down the stairway Ike held onto his brother's hand, squeezing it tightly to get Kyle's attention once more. "I won't tell mom and dad, I promise."_

"_Thanks," said Ike. "But… you don't care?"_

"_No dude, you're my brother, and I don't hate people for stuff like that… Although, I could make a case out of the fact that you hated me for being an adopted brother."_

"_Please don't," said Kyle, laughing. He took his brother in an embrace which lasted for several seconds, and by the time he let go he turned away to enter his room._

"_Hey, Kyle?" The older brother turned around, holding onto the doorframe as he looked at Ike. "I don't know what's going on with you and Stan, but I really hope things get better for you guys."_

"_Thanks Ike." He smiled before closing the door, leaving a worried Ike alone in the hallway. Inside his room Kenny looked at him apologetically, and with the frown he gave the Jewish boy Kyle knew he had been sorry for something…._

"_I didn't mean for your brother to find out…."_

"_It's okay, I guess," replied Kyle. "I think he took it better than I would've thought. But I'm still doubtful of my parents."_

"_I'll be more careful, then," said Kenny. "Now…. About Stan…." Kyle bit his lip bitterly as he paced around the room. "I don't think you should say he hates you. I mean, if what you said is true, I don't think he would really hate you."_

"_The way he left me there… his expression seemed cold… something I've never seen before."_

"_Well still, Kyle. He said he'd never hate you, right? So… he's probably just confused how to react."_

"_He said he couldn't be _angry_ around me, Kenny. He could still _hate_ me."_

"_Why do you keep thinking he hates you? He's your friend, Kyle, and knowing him I doubt he'd leave you just because of something like this."_

"_He doesn't love me," said Kyle, looking out his window. "He doesn't have any feelings for me, and he's not talking to me… That's why I think he hates me."_

"_Then he doesn't hate you," said Kenny simply, taking a seat at the edge of Kyle's bed. He glanced at Kyle, who was wearing a very confused gaze—as if having just been proven wrong—and with a sigh Kenny expounded. "If he doesn't have feelings for you, then he doesn't hate you. Hating someone requires a great amount of feelings toward that person, you know…" Kyle stood with his mouth agape for some time, staring at the blonde boy as he tried putting what Kenny said into context—he had never known Kenny could say something so… deep._

"_Then what is he then? Apathetic?"_

"_Inexpressive, I think," Kenny replied. "I'm sure he does care about you still, but he just had a hard time expressing himself."_

"_How do you know all this stuff, Kenny?"_

"_I'm an observant kid, I guess," said Kenny, smiling. Kyle took a seat at his desk, turning his back to Kenny as the boy fell back onto Kyle's bed. "I think you should talk to him."_

"_What?" Kyle asked in disbelief, spinning his office-chair around to face Kenny. "Won't talking to him just make things… worse?"_

"_You think?" said Kenny, staring at the ceiling. "And you think that avoiding this whole thing will make things better? Talk to him, dude. If neither of you ever gets anything across no one will ever know the truth behind all of this."_

"_But… if what you said is true… he won't know how to react. I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable, Kenny."_

"_You'll have to deal with that," was the reply. Kyle turned back to his desk, cradling his head into his arms. Clearly he didn't want to do what Kenny asked him, but as it seemed he didn't have a choice. Yet there had to be some way of avoiding it, Kyle was sure…_

"_Can't I just write him a letter?" Kyle asked. It was a likely alternative in Kyle's mind, at least. It didn't involve them interacting, which had been Kyle's major problem…_

"_Do you want that?" Kenny asked, causing Kyle to raise his head to turn to him. "I mean, you misinterpreted Stan's reactions, right? Are you sure you want Stan to do the same with your intentions of the letter?" Kyle sighed as he glared at his feet—damn Kenny and his random sense of logic. "You sure you want to trust paper and ink with your words?"_

"_Fine, goddamnit," said Kyle, standing up from his chair. Kenny stood up with him, wearing a very wide grin; and as he looked at the blonde he sighed one more time, biting his lip. "I'll tell him in person, then."_

- - - - - - - - -

"_Don't ruin it… don't ruin it…" Kyle glanced up quickly to look at his companions, and when he's noticed no one's heard him he resumed muttering under his breath. OCD?—not quite, but the Jewish boy was worried as the four walked along the main road that ran throughout South Park. They had no particular purpose—only to find relief to their boredom—and it wasn't by any coincidence that Stan and Kyle were at the ends of their moving, miniature sidewalk blockade, not to mention Stan's gaze fixed at the stores on the opposite side of the street and Kyle's gaze locked at his feet._

"_Hey dude, what're we gonna have for lunch?" Kenny asked._

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_I got it, you guys!" exclaimed Eric. "Let's go to Shakey's Pizza!"_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

_Kenny's voice came next. "The cloned one or the original one?"_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_Cloned, definitely."_

"_Don't ruin it…"_

"_Ruin what, dude?" Kyle abruptly raised his head at the question. Well, so much for not ruining it… Their whole blockade came crumbling as Kenny and Eric stopped and turned to Kyle. It was like a triangle, Kyle happened to notice, and Stan was merely some random point in the same plane._

_Clearly there was still tension between the two boys._

"_Nothing…"_

"_What the fuck ever," said Eric, turning away. "Come on, Stan. Let's get away from these fags." Kyle knew Eric hadn't been serious, but as he took Stan and started walking with him he could've sworn he saw Stan look behind his shoulder. That damn word, 'fag;' Eric had used that word before, and Stan never minded it… Yet now that Stan knew about Kyle's preference…_

"_No, not nothing," said Kenny, peering into Kyle's turned gaze. "Ruin what?"_

"_Ruin this… Making a fool of myself like I am now. Letting Stan see me like this."_

"_He's not looking at you right now," replied Kenny, raising Kyle's chin. "Just remember that everything will be all right. It'll all get better soon."_

"_I want it to," said Kyle, and as Kenny started walking he found his feet moving him forward as well. "But I don't want to talk to him like you said…"_

"_I thought you decided on that already?"_

"…_until my birthday's passed," finished Kyle._

_Kenny turned to Kyle, tilting his head while still encouraging the Jewish boy to catch up with their friends. "Why?"_

"_I don't want to spend my birthday on a crappy note," said Kyle, shoving his free hand in his pocket. "If I talk to Stan before then most likely I'll get just that." Across the street Wendy and Bebe waved a hello, but neither of the two saw it. They caught up to Stan and Eric at long last, just as they were approaching Tom's Rhinoplasty, and as Kenny joined Eric's side he whispered into Kyle's ear:_

"_As if you're not having a crappy time now?"_

_Kyle remained silent._

"_About time, fags," said Eric, scoffing. "What took you guys so goddamn long? Screwing each other's brains out in the back alleh again?"_

"_Aw, gross dude!" exclaimed Kenny. "Why the hell would you think of something like that?"_

"_Wouldn't be surprised if you did." Perhaps the sentence wasn't as bad as it had sounded, despite the fact of its negative connotation. After all, the boys were being quite lighthearted, and what they were saying wasn't being taken into serious consideration. In fact, half of their group probably didn't even see anything wrong with that sentence and regarded it as a mere joke._

_The only thing about it was that Stan had said it, and it wasn't Kenny he had directed it to. In fact, Eric was the _only_ one who didn't know whom the sentence was meant for._

"_You fucking bastard." And then there was the argument of acceptable behavior in such situations—though Kyle didn't dillydally with such ideations. Radical behavior and language, Kyle decided, was more logical. _

"_Wait, guys…?" said Eric, though no one listened to him. "What's goin' on?"_

"_Shit, Kyle… I shouldn't have said that…"—yet Kyle wouldn't listen. Stan was in actuality truly repentant, and he even made it visible in his facial expression—but Kyle wouldn't listen. Sometimes the mind works up its own perspective of what actually happens, and here that clearly was the case._

"…_You guys…?"—Eric was ignored._

"_What the hell's your problem, Stan?"_

"_Kyle, really, I'm—"_

"—_we were once best friends, dude… What I told you doesn't have to change that!"_

"_It doesn't!" Stan pleaded, turning away. Kenny's eyes widened after hearing this, but Kyle didn't notice._

"_Then why the hell did you just say that?" Kenny sighed as Stan prepared for an answer—was this what Kyle meant by "not ruining it"?—but then, if Kyle had kept his cool, maybe he would've heard the piece of consolation Stan had uttered seconds ago…_

"_I don't know I wasn't thinking, dude…" Kenny figured that Kyle could've at least realized Stan was talking to him, not to mention showing signs of repentance… Maybe Stan was sorry for other things?_

_But Kyle would never know._

"_You're fucking confusing me," said Kyle, suddenly bracing his head with his hands._

"_Kyle…"_

_A woman and her child were looking at the four oddly. Only Eric showed any interest in their spectators._

"_I'm gonna go, dude," said Kyle, heaving a sigh. "I can't… I don't…" but he never finished his sentence. Instead he had decided to turn in the opposite direction and leave, leaving behind an utterly confused Eric, a disappointed Kenny, and an indifferent Stan. Not that it mattered though, because he was almost sure they'd follow him in due time._

"_I ruined it," Kyle muttered to himself as he turned onto his street. _

_At that moment Kyle knew that Stanley Marsh, his best friend, had completely caused his world to crumble._

"_Stan hates me," Kyle said to himself. Granted that the boy probably didn't hate him, but in his mind that was the only existing fact. If the Jewish boy would merely talk with Stan instead of just assuming things he would get the perception correctly. But in truth Kyle didn't even know what everyone was telling him about "talking to Stan."—were they simply referring to another confession, only more organized?_

"_I'm not doing that," said Kyle softly, shoving his hands into his jacket's pockets._

"_Not doin' what, Kahl?"_

…_Apparently not softly enough._

"_What'd you want, fatass?" Kyle asked, walking all the more briskly. He could hear Eric's pants for breath as he walked faster, the heavier boy being forced to walk at a faster pace—yet even despite that Eric had still been able to catch up. With a large, firm hand upon his left shoulder Kyle slowed to a halt, turning around to give his cold expression to Eric._

"_I wanna know what's goin' on, Kahl."_

"_Fucking liar."_

_Eric sighed and turned away. "All right, all right, Kenneh asked me to talk to you. But Seriouslah, Kahl, you seem really fucked up." Leave it to Cartman, of course, to be blunt about touchy matters._

"_It's none of your fucking business, Cartman!"_

"_Well if it's Kenneh's business, and if Kenneh asked me, then it's my business." Kyle sighed, shrugging Eric's hand off his shoulder, but as he turned around to walk away he was merely held back again. "Kenneh asked me to ask you what's wrong and he wants you to do that thing you wanted to do."_

"_But he hates me," said Kyle, grumbling. "Why the hell should I talk to Stan now? There's no point in sorting feuds out with him if he's being downright discriminative…" Eric nods, tightening his hold on Kyle._

"_So you like him?" Eric muttered, Kyle staring at the boy in disbelief. How he came to such a conclusion with such little info Kyle didn't know—and as if reading his confusion Eric continued. "Kahl, you suck at hiding emotions. Though I still don't understand what the fuckin' hell you were doin' before I accused you and Kenneh of screwin' each other, you reacted like a fuckin' pussy when Stan said to whoever the hell it was he was talking to that he had been expectin' it. And then—and _then_, Kahl, _this_ is where you screwed up. When you—"_

"—_I don't wanna fucking know," interjected Kyle. "The point is that I don't see any fucking reason why I should still talk to him."_

"_Aside from the fact that you wanna screw his fuckin' brains out?" The heavier boy shook his head, and suddenly Kyle felt the need to take a step back or two. "Kahl, Kahl… Stan's a very dear friend of yours, no?"_

"_Yeah, he is."_

"—_and you'd do anything to get him back, right Kahl?"_

"…_Yeah…?"_

"—_you don't wanna lose him?"_

"…_No…?" _

"—_then come with me, Kahl. If what you said is true you've got no fuckin' choice." Kyle sighed, turning his head toward the cement as he tapped his foot in deep thought. There would be no other way around this…. But at the same time, he _didn't_ want to lost him, either._

_In the end he decided to follow the pudgy boy, walking through the streets of South Park once more. He was following Eric, yes, but his pace had been remarkably slow in order to not get ahead of his leader. However, Kyle couldn't help but frown every time Eric would press his face onto a shop's glass window, and he couldn't help but smile on the inside as he received the same reaction of frightened shrieks each time._

"_Enlighten me again," said Kyle as he and Eric peered into yet another window. "What the fucking hell are we doing?"_

"_Lookin' for Stan and Kenneh," he replied, pressing his pudgy face against a fogged mirror—at that moment a young girl on the other side began crying. "Damn, they couldn't have gone _that_ far away…"_

"_Ah, well it looks like we can't find them," said Kyle nervously. Eric turned once to Kyle, not failing to notice his attempted escape; and a quick grasp of his wrist is sufficient enough to keep Kyle by his side._

"_I think they're in there," said Eric, pointing to a sign above a building: "_Harmon's Café_." It was a rather rusty building, with a wooden sign made of planks of wood masking-taped together; and as they approached its entrance they were greeted with a rather flimsy door. "Come on, Jewboy, get inside."_

"_But—" Kyle began, but there was no negotiating with him. With a force that only a person of his weight could produce Eric pushed a reluctant Kyle through the doors._

_And then, quite suddenly…_

"_Oh. My. God! Kenneh, Kenneh! There's this oh so amazing' thing outside! Quick, quick! I think it may be raining pennehs outside!" Kyle let out a low chuckle under his breath as Eric rushed forward to grab Kenny by the arm. There was clear distaste of Eric's joke in Kenny's eyes, but a quick glance at Kyle and he nodded slowly, allowing himself to be overtaken._

_Now all that was left was…_

"_Hey."_

"_Hey." Kyle found himself blushing as Stan gestured toward an empty seat beside him, the seat that Kenny had once occupied. Kyle sighed, accepting the invitation, and as he took a seat he looked anywhere but at Stan—the checkered tablecloth seemed very amusing to look at._

"_I really am sorry, dude," muttered Stan. "I think it was wrong of me to… say that."_

"_It's okay…" Screw the checkered tablecloth; the ceramic tiles looked even more fascinating._

"_You aren't mad at me, are you?"_

"_No." Ah, fuck it—Kyle raised his head to look at Stan, trying his best to stare into those crystal-blue orbs. "Are you?"_

"_Am I what?"_

"_Mad… Are you mad at me?"_

"_What for?"_

"_For… For liking you…"_

"_Oh." Kyle sighed as he turned away yet again… Maybe talking to Stan hadn't been such a good idea. "Of course not… why should I be?"_

"_Well, well…" and as he struggled for words Stan smiled. "Well you… well… Doesn't it bother you that… that another guy likes you?"_

"_No." And as Kyle began tapping his foot nervously Stan smiled some more. "It's not like you can't help it."_

"_But then… but then… why did you leave me on the lake—by myself?"_

_A smile disappears. A foot taps against the floor even faster._

"_I didn't know what to do… I didn't want to say anything that'd hurt you so I said nothing…"_

"_Leaving me like that hurt me more." _

"_Oh…" The two remained in silence for some time, both trying to figure out what to say next._

"_Can I explain myself?" Kyle asked suddenly, causing Stan to frown._

"_Explain yourself? What else is there, other than the fact that you like me?"_

"_Well… I dunno… maybe _why_ I like you, why… I dunno I was under the impression that you hated me, and now I know you don't…" He took a deep breath, biting his lip and tapping his foot all the more rapidly. "I'm sorry Stan… I should never have liked you."_

"_Don't be sorry for what's not your fault, dude," said Stan. Kyle frowned, but as he felt another foot on top of his tapping one he sighed yet again—he felt more relaxed, suddenly. _

"_But I _am_ sorry, dude. I wouldn't have all these feelings for you if this had never happened… there wouldn't be this odd feeling between us… we wouldn't be having this conversation…"_

"_What's wrong with this conversation?" Stan asked._

"_Well… I dunno, dude. Doesn't it feel weird that you're talking to me about this?"_

"_No." And as Kyle raised his head to look at Stan he found the raven-haired boy already smiling at him. "You assume too much, Kyle Broflovski."_

"_Oh?"—and as Stan nodded Kyle couldn't help but smile with the boy. Did this mean…?_

"_I don't mind if you like me… But… would you be willing to let me like you back?" And what followed was perhaps something Eric would see in cheesy romantic movies with cheesy puffs in his hands in the privacy of his house. Neither boy paid attention to the fact that they were in public, nor that Kenny and Eric were watching them from a partially opened door—nor even that their waitress was squealing from afar doing what some girls would do upon seeing two boys in love._

"_But now what?" Kyle asked as he leaned back into his chair. "I mean… we worked our way up to this point, but once we've gotten there."_

"_We'll figure something out," said Stan, pulling something out of his back pocket. "But for now… let's decide who's gonna pay for this bill."_

- - - - - - - - -

"_Are you doing anything today, dude?" _

_Kyle turned his head to look at Stan, shaking his head and smiling. "No, why?"_

"_You sure you aren't busy?" Kyle frowned, shaking his head yet again. It was quite obvious that Stan was nervous, looking at the way his fingers were fidgeting. Still, Stan gulped down a breath of air and continued. "You wanna… I dunno, like… do something today?"_

"_Like?"_

"_I dunno, dude. Maybe eat somewhere… watch a movie…" Stan smiled nervously as Kyle raised a finger to his chin._

"_Like a date?"_

"_Sure," Stan replied, turning red at the sound of the word. "That. Wanna go on a '_date_,' then?"_

"_Sure." And that was one of the many complications of dating—it was bad enough experiencing the low drop after the climaxing "asking out" scene. Then two people had to experience the first date, the first kiss, the first make out session, the first… And after all of these the same low feeling would be instilled in them. "When?"_

"_Today," Stan repeated, and Kyle nodded._

"_Okay, dude." And that had been that—for now. It didn't really seem like anything was planned throughout the day, even as the two left the benches to make their way towards class. Sure, it did cross Stan and Kyle's minds that something good would probably happen that night, but the excitement—or even worry—wasn't there like someone would've thought._

_Though, by the time the "date" came close, one boy clearly was anxious._

"_Listen," said Ike as Kyle paced around his room. "I know everything turned out all right for you, Stan liking you in the end and stuff, but seriously, dude, _chill out_!"_

"_But he's coming in thirty minutes," said Kyle, pausing for a mere moment; "to take me out on a _date_!"_

"_He told you this morning," said Ike, shaking his head. "At least you weren't acting like this earlier today…"_

"_No I wasn't," said Kyle, rushing quickly to his closet. "I've been on many outings with Stan before"—Ike laughed at the sound of _outing_—"and for some reason I kept thinking that this would just be like that, only us two alone."_

"_And it's not?"_

"_No!" Kyle exclaimed, now scavenging for clothes to wear. "I was listening to Wendy at lunch today—man can she talk fast—but she was telling me how her first date with… I think it was Token… had been really special for her and stuff. But… but… Ike, this is our first date too!"_

"_So?" asked Ike, standing up from his seat on the bed. "I think you just need to relax and stop being all OCD."_

"_I'm not OCD!"—but even as he said this he was dumping his clothes out of his closet in piles by colors. "I just think… well…"_

"_What do you think?" and as Ike glared challengingly at the back of Kyle's head Kyle dropped his head and sighed._

"_Okay, fine, you win." He turned around and picked up the first article of clothing he saw. "Mom really needs to stop getting us sweater vests."_

"_And Corduroy pants," Ike added. He looked over at the piles of clothing and frowned. "I'm sure Stan's not gonna care what you wear. The fact that you guys are boyfriends now shouldn't make any difference, really."_

"_Yeah, but…" Ike raised his head, waiting for an answer, but upon hearing none he smiled. "Okay fine, another win for you. But I need to get myself together, really."_

"_He didn't say where you were going?" Ike asked._

_Kyle shook his head. "Only if I was busy. But there's nothing in South Park that really mandates you to dress formally."_

"_Just wear whatever." But before Kyle could answer back the doorbell rang, sending him into yet another flurry of panic. "I swear, Kyle, if I hadn't known any better I would've thought I had a sister…"_

"_Ha, ha, very funny." He quickly pulled a green shirt over his head, and as he fitted it on properly he suddenly began to laugh. "I just realized," said Kyle, watching Ike's confused face. "I'm gonna wear a jacket over this shirt anyway."_

"_Exactly," said Ike, slapping his forehead. "I hope you have fun?"_

"_I will," said Kyle, and with a small wave he shut the door behind him._

"_Hey dude."_

"_Hey." The Jewish boy darted his gaze upward for a split second, daring to look at the raven-haired boy's eyes; but he quickly found himself looking at his feet once more—clearly he was nervous._

_So was Stan._

"_Wanna get going?" Stan asked, nodding his head toward his car._

"_Sure." Stan smiled, turning around to return to the still-running car; and as Kyle locked the door behind him he soon followed. Hit unsynchronized footsteps found their way to Stan's car; his nervousness gave reason to start conversation—and as Stan started the car the awkwardness caused his uneasy eyes to gaze absentmindedly at the boy next to him._

"_You okay?"_

"_Yeah…" But inside Kyle was anything but. What was he supposed to do?—how was he supposed to act?—what was he supposed to say? "So what're we doing?"_

"_Not sure," Stan said with a goofy smile. "It doesn't really matter as long as we're spending time together, right?"_

"_Yeah," Kyle replied, turning away. Maybe first dates weren't as significant as he thought they were…_

"_Though if you're curious I was planning on having a dinner and movie type of thing, you know? You can choose the restaurant if you'd like."_

"_And how many good restaurants are out there, really?" Kyle asked, chuckling at the thought. "—unless you're the kinda kid who likes Shakey's Pizza."_

"_Shakey's Pizza it is, then."—and after seeing the bemused expression on Kyle's face he laughed. "Fine, fine. We'll take something out from City Wok and eat at Stark's Pond's edge, cool?"_

"_Cool." Kyle laughed briefly at the sound of the store's name—the owner couldn't pronounce the name properly and always said _shitty wok_. "You know the food's really not that bad there. It's just the name that's shitty."_

"_Yeah dude." Stan made a sharp left off the main road, pulling in front of a small store—of course, with the sign "_City Wok_" atop the entrance. "Wanna just wait here?"_

"_Sure." And as Stan got out of the car Kyle couldn't help but stare… and stare… at the City Wok sign, of course._

_Stan came back with a few boxes of food._

"_I can't eat that much, dude!" Kyle exclaimed, taking the food into his lap while Stan climbed into his vehicle._

"_I know, but we can."_

"_City Beef, City Pork… two boxes of City Rice… you sure we can finish all of this?"_

"_Nah," Stan said with a smile, pulling away from the store. "I'll probably bring it home later for Shelley to eat."_

"_Ah…" and as Stan turned to the road Kyle frowned once more. They were surviving on common conversation… In a way it didn't even feel like they were boyfriends at all—though, were two people _really_ boyfriends at this early stage in a relationship?—but then, maybe that's what it really was all about, just being really good friends._

"_We're here," said Stan after some time, and as the car came to a stop he turned toward Kyle. "You gonna get out?"_

"_Sure…" The two left the car and began walking toward the lake. "Hey Stan…?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_You wouldn't… Well, it's kinda stupid of a question, but…"_

"_Say it," said Stan, almost in a demanding voice—though still quite calm._

"_You won't leave me at the lake again, will you?" Stan bit his lip as the two seated themselves at the lake's edge. The moonlight against the sparkling waters was enough to illuminate their area._

"_No," he replied, handing Kyle a box and some utensils. "Of course I won't."_

"_Okay…" He gazed up at the full moon insightfully as he felt Stan tap his shoulder._

"_You really like me, right?" Stan asked, causing Kyle to turn to Stan with a confused face._

"_Yeah dude, of course… I spent forever just telling you, remember?"_

"_Yeah, but it's just…" The raven-haired boy turned away, leaving Kyle to stare at the side of his head. "I'm not sure how to feel right now… Like, is this real…? Am I imagining this?—I just didn't want to have it ruined by you not really liking me."_

"_Of course I do…" and as Kyle looked away to the moon again he sighed. "What'd you thinks gonna come out of this…?"_

"_Hm?"—both boys met gazes—"What'd you mean?"_

"_Like out of this—this relationship between us… Is it going to go anywhere, you think?"_

"_I hope so," said Stan, smiling. "You know… I'm pretty sure we'll make it work."_

"_Forever?"—how cliché._

_Yet Stan still answered. "As everlasting as we can make this." And as ever-cliché the moment had been, Kyle was sure that he'd never forget those words for quite a long time…_

- - - - - - - - - -

_The only thing he could hear was silence—perhaps an entrance of a key and maybe the turn of the lock, but other than that he heard nothing._

"_Hello?"_

_His parents' cars were parked in the driveway, which meant that they _were_ home… somewhere. Yet it made no sense. Even Ike was supposed to be home, but he wasn't anywhere in sight._

_Although, 'sight' wouldn't qualify as being very far since all the lights were turned off._

_There was definitely something fishy going on, and Kyle was ready to get to the bottom of it. Slowly feeling his way along the walls he made his way around the room and to the stairs, and with one fluid motion he flicked open the lights._

"_Ha!" he yelled—but there's no one there. Kyle frowned at the sight, half-expecting at least Ike to be hidden in the masses of pillows. Maybe he had even suspected Stan to be hiding behind their couch—but no one was there._

_He went into the kitchen and illuminated the kitchen in the same manner—same results. He knew everyone was hiding _somewhere_… he just couldn't figure out where._

"_Fuck it," Kyle muttered, trudging upstairs to go to his room. He took a particularly long time going up the stairs as the boy was quite tired and felt rather down. That day had been very special to Kyle, yet no one seemed to remember._

_He arrived at his bedroom door, pushing it slowly open as he supported his head. It had been a stressing day—he had driven himself to the "local" DMV office to obtain his driver's license only to find a long waiting line. He waited the entire day there, but throughout that time he talked to no one. He half-expected Stan to at least call him, but he received no such call._

"_I wanna sleep," Kyle told himself as he closed the door behind him. And then, as he opened the light switch, his room erupted into a fit of noise._

"_HAPPY BIRTHDAY, KYLE!" a chorus of different tones greeted him, taking Kyle aback._

"_What the hell?" Kyle asked, and as he glanced at his mother he suddenly covered his mouth. "What're you all doing here?"_

"_Giving you a birthday party, of course," said Stan, stepping forward. "Though most of this is your mom's doings and not ours."_

"_Cake!" Kenny suddenly yelled, rushing out of the room._

_Stan answered to Kyle's confused expression; "we told him we'd be eating cake once you got here."_

"_I see," Kyle replied, glancing around the room. "Damn, there're a lot of people here!" His eyes glanced from Bebe to Wendy, Craig to Clyde, Eric to Butters, and even his cousin Kyle._

"_We invited everyone you knew, Bubee," said Mrs. Broflovski, stepping forward. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your birthday, Kie-yole."_

"_I think I will, ma… I think I will." The large group of people made their way down to the kitchen—and it had been then when Kyle realized how cramped everyone had been. People were hiding under his bed, behind his dresser, under his computer table, inside his closet and behind the door…_

"_Here you go," said Mrs. Broflovski once they reached the kitchen._

"_Aw, mom… no, don't do that!"_

"_It's what we've done every year," Mrs. Broflovski reasoned, placing the undesired object around Kyle's neck._

"_Ma, I'm seventeen now."_

"_Yes Bubee, I know, it's on your cake."_

"_Ma, all my friends are watching me."_

"_I know dear, I invited them."_

"_But ma, this ISN'T something you make your sixteen year old son do!—in front of his friends!"_

"_All right, all right, fine." Mrs. Broflovski heaved a sigh and took the bib off. Ever since Ike did is as a child, it had been tradition in their family for the celebrant to eat the first slice of cake with only his or her mouth._

"_Blow the candle, dude!" Stan exclaimed, patting his boyfriend hard on the back encouragingly. "Come on, Kyle, do it!—and don't choke while you're at it!"_

"_I wouldn't be choking if you hadn't whipped me so freaking hard, dude."_

"_Blow the goddamn cake!" yelled Cartman on the other side of the table, not because he was impatient of all their dillydallying but probably because he wanted that delicious-looking cake. Seconds later Kenny whispered something in his ear, but the only reaction the blonde boy earned was an "Aw sick, Kenneh!"_

"_Just make a wish and blow the candles," many of his other classmates and peers began saying to him, and Kyle complied. He paused as he closed his eyes, remaining still for a few moments before taking a gasp of air to put out the flames. His peers around him erupted into applause as his mother proceeded in cutting the cake, and as he took a step back he glanced at Stan._

"_What'd you wish for?" Stan asked as he moved himself into hearing range of the boy._

"_If I told you it wouldn't come true," Kyle said, smiling._

"_But that's just some corny statement," Stan said, pouting. "Come on, you know wanna tell me…"_

"_Nope."_

"_Not cool."_

"_You sound like Cartman," Kyle teased, and as he stuck his tongue out at him Stan pouted._

"_Have the first slice now, Bubee."_

"_Nah, that's fine, ma. You know I'm diabetic."_

"_It's sugar-free."—and as Kyle groaned Stan chuckled quietly to himself._

"_Sugar-free cake…?" Stan asked under his breath. "What's the point in the cake, then?"_

"_No idea," Kyle muttered, wincing at the taste of the 'cake.' "I'm just hoping this party doesn't spend too much time on the cake… I'm sure Cartman's disappointed that it's sugar-free."_

_Sure enough, a saddened Eric Cartman threw a tantrum seconds later. But his rampage didn't quite register in Kyle's mind; really, all that mattered was that he would spend one of his most treasured days with the boy he loved._

_And quite frankly that was _all_ that mattered, because it seemed like almost no time had passed when the party reached its end._

_It was rather silent now in the Broflovski household as remnants of a party lingered. The floors were still scattered with half-full, half-empty, and truly empty cups, all once filled with nonalcoholic drinks since Mrs. Broflovski had chaperoned the entire thing. _

_But now there was no Mrs. Broflovski to set her hawk-like eyes on now, and all who remained were Stan, Kyle and Kenny, all sitting in the celebrant's room. They were spread across his bed eating some of the sugar-free cake, and as Stan turned to Kenny Kyle found the need to turn on his computer._

"_Hey Kenny, I think I left something in my car… Can you go get it?"—and with a wink unnoticed by Kyle Kenny exited the room to execute the command._

_At his computer desk Kyle turned around abruptly to face his boyfriend. "You did that on purpose, dude."_

"_So?" asked Stan, standing up to walk over to the boy. "That means we get some time to ourselves." Kyle smirked as he felt Stan wrap his arms around his neck tenderly. He smiled at the thought of their first day a week before where at the cinema they were even nervous to hold hands._

"_What'd you plan on doing in those few minutes?" Kyle asked daringly._

"_I dunno," Stan replied. He glanced up at the computer screen as it began loading. "Why do you have a picture of Brian Boitano on your computer screen, dude?"_

"_He's my hero, of course." He turned his head as he caught a pouting Stan frowning at him. "Come on, Stan… You know not even someone as amazing as you can compete with him."_

"_What'd I have to do to prove you wrong?"_

"_I dunno," Kyle said with a frown. He glanced back to his computer to type in his password. "What does a first kiss feel like?"_

"_How should I know?"_

"_You've kissed Wendy before."_

"_So? It was only for like two seconds. Besides, haven't you kissed Bebe before, too?"_

"_In a dare, maybe." The two remained still as silence set around them. "Kenny should be back by now."_

"_Maybe he's having a hard time finding it," Stan suggested, shrugging._

"_He probably doesn't even know what you want him to find," Kyle said, raising an eyebrow. "And now I think about it, how the hell does he know what to look for if you barely told him anything?"_

"_Uh…" His other eyebrow rose to match its partner. "Uh, I—" but just as he began making up an excuse Kenny poled his head through the door._

"_Can't find it," said Kenny, confirming Kyle's suspicions. "Stan, help me find it."_

"_All right, dude." He groaned as he removed his arms from Kyle, walking over to the door and shutting it behind him. Kyle wheeled his chair around to glance at the door, but it wasn't long until Kenny returned._

"_What's he getting?" Kyle asked curiously, tilting his head._

"_No idea," replied Kenny._

"_Bullshit."_

"_Aw come on, Kyle. Don't be too harsh." Kyle smiled, as he turned back to the computer, soon after growling at the failure of the desired page to load._

"_Why won't the damn thing—" but he doesn't finish. Instead Stan returned with the burst of the door opening. He was clearly hiding something behind his back, and he couldn't have made it any more obvious when he walked sideways around the bed to prevent Kyle from seeing the hidden object._

"_Close your eyes," Stan ordered as he came closer, but Kyle only shook his head._

"_Flowers."_

"_Not cool," muttered Stan as he pulled out the bouquet. Kyle stared in awe as the raven-haired boy passed the bouquet to him._

"_What… What are these?"_

"_Gardenias," Stan replied, pulling out a small label from his pocket to confirm._

"_It looks like a bridal bouquet," Kenny said with a laugh. "You aren't proposing to him, are you?"_

"_Not really," Stan replied, hazarding glances at his boyfriend. "But you never know when this moment will come back again."_

"_You sure we're gonna last that long?" Kyle asked quietly, but Stan only placed a finger to his mouth._

"_Don't say that, dude," Stan said, gazing into the Jewish boy's green eyes. "If you say we won't, we never will."_

"_So what do you want me to say?" Kyle asked as Stan took him into his arms. Yet somehow even then he had already been expecting that cliché answer… But still, no matter how cliché it was, it would always sound pleasant to his ears._

"_Say we'll not fail each other," Stan said over Kyle's shoulder. "Say this love's gonna last forever." And as Kyle glanced at a smiling Kenny over Stan's shoulder he couldn't help but close his eyes and smile…_

_Indeed, that had been his best birthday yet._

- - - - - - - - -

"_Kyle… Kyle… Wake up, dude!" The said boy groaned and rolled over, slapping his alarm clock once. "It's not your alarm clock…"_

"_Five more minutes, Ma."_

"_What the hell, dude?—I don't _really_ sound like your mom, do I?" The Jewish boy sighed, rubbing his eyes so he could properly see the person he was talking to._

"_Sorry, dude… I'm not quite awake, yet."_

"_No kidding." Kyle grumbled as he helped himself off his bed, walking over to his closet as Stan watched him. "Come on, dude!—I said to wake up at eight!"_

"_Gimme some slack," Kyle protested, stepping out of his pajamas. "It's not normal waking up this early on a Saturday morning."_

"_That's why you have an alarm clock," said Stan; "which, by the way, rang about thirty minutes ago."_

"_Oh." The both of them could hear the wonderful sounds—or absence of sounds—downstairs, since it was still even too early for Mrs. Broflovski to be awake. "Stop staring."_

"_Hm?" asked Stan, tilting his head curiously to the accusation. "At what?"_

_Kyle grunted. "You know damn well what you're staring at. I don't have to explain it to you, do I?"_

"_Please do," Stan said cheekily, smirk wide upon his face._

"_Whatever, dude." For the next few minutes Stan found himself humming a catchy tune while Kyle continued to get dressed. Soon after he began tapping his feet impatiently, followed shortly by the rapid glances around his room—all up to the point where he could barely wait any longer._

"_We're only going to the amusement park," Stan reminded him as he groaned in utter annoyance. "Can we _please_ get going already?"_

"_Geez, we're a bit impatient…" And as Kyle stepped out of the closet he looked toward Stan. "This good enough?"_

"_Of course. Now let's get the fuck outta here." The next few minutes were spent quietly trying to leave the house, and although Kyle could've sworn his mother had awoken from Stan's accidental slamming of the front door he didn't care so much._

_The amusement part was a small way outside South Park, which meant that Stan would have to drive a longer distance than he was used to driving. The playing radio saved the two from any silent moments, and it wasn't long before the two arrived at their desired destination._

"_Let's go," Stan said, turning the engine off. This would make the two boy's second date, and it was pretty noticeable how the two had changed between then and now. The way the two walked closer to each other proved that they had already gone over that border of nervousness, even though they still weren't ready to hold hands in public._

'_It's fun hiding,' Stan had reasoned, and that had been enough for Kyle. In a way it _was_ fun hiding their relationship from their parents, though he knew that one day he'd probably have to tell them—if they hadn't yet caught him by that time. _

"_Try to enjoy yourself while you're here," said Stan once they had gotten inside._

"_Of course," said Kyle, smiling. "Come on, dude! I'm feeling for a rollercoaster right now."_

"_Aw, come on… I have a weak stomach."_

"_I thought you got over that, already?"_

"_No, dude! I stopped puking on people I liked. I still have a horrible stomach."_

"_Fine, just wait for me, then." For a moment Stan stood dumbfounded as he found himself holding all of Kyle's possessions, but as he blinked and saw Kyle walking toward the queue line he called the boy's name."_

"_No way, dude! I'm coming with you!"_

"_You sure, dude?"—Stan nodded at the question, though inside he had been seriously debating the issue._

"_I don't wanna make you ride something by yourself," he said with a smile._

_A half hour later, however, Stan had been saying something entirely different._

"_Get me a trash can…" Stan pleaded as they left the attraction. Around him the few satisfied customers crazy enough to wake up that early were walking out with smiles on their faces, but as Kyle helped his friend out the exit Stan found himself lurching forward every other step._

"_Aw, dude! Don't puke on me!"—several heads turn._

"_But I like you, so therefore you are obligated to be puked on at some point."—more heads turn._

"_I thought you said you got over that already?"_

"_I did, but it was a good enough threat. Now get me the damn garbage bin."_

"_You can't just pick it up, dude! Go walk over to one yourself; I wanna look at the photos from the ride." Stan sighed, reluctantly leaving Kyle's side to find something to reel over. Kyle smiled at the sight and walked over to the small photo booth beside the rollercoaster's exit, glancing at the small screen to see his picture. "No way," Kyle muttered aloud. "Did he…?" But as he craned his neck upward he knew there was no denying it. Why hadn't he felt it, though…?_

"_I'll buy picture number 023," Kyle said to the lady at the counter and she nodded, doing the job that Kyle didn't want to know about and the one she was hired to do._

"_Here you are," she said, handing it to him in a small frame. "Have a nice day, and enjoy the rest of your visit!"_

"_Thanks." The Jewish boy smiled, looking around as he walked away. Where had that boy gone? Despite it only being ten in the morning there were still many people around him, and as he scanned all their varying faces he couldn't find the raven-haired visage he was most familiar with._

"_There you are," said a voice suddenly from behind him, and a hand clamped to his shoulder caused Kyle to jump in surprise._

"_Feeling better?" Kyle asked and Stan nodded in reply._

"_Yeah. I gave the janitor a job to do, though…" Stan chuckled as Kyle looked at him sternly._

"_Okay… You know, you wouldn't have puked if you didn't try kissing me while on a damn rollercoaster."_

"_I did no such thing!" Stan protested, but a mere flash of a purchased on-ride photo and Stan looked away in shame. "Okay, maybe I did, but…"_

"_I'd rather have my first real kiss while I'm not a hundred feet in the air, thanks." He laughed as the two began walking away from the ride. The other roller coasters in the park looked appealing to Kyle, but with a nausea-stricken boy beside him Kyle was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to fulfill that fantasy. "This isn't bad of a second date."_

"_Yeah," said Stan, taking a side glance at the boy. "Maybe because this time you aren't in such a hurry to do your Calculus homework."_

"_Whatever, dude." Stan laughed as they continued to walk towards their unknown destination, and as they both looked on ahead Kyle fidgeted with the object in his hand. "At any case… do you want this? Maybe to celebrate your failed victory or something…" Stan turned to him and frowned as Kyle handed him the picture._

"_Sure," Stan muttered, taking it into his hands. And as the two proceeded once more he smiled—his expression was priceless._

_- - - - - - - - - - _

"_We aren't… _really_ boyfriends yet, are we?"_

_A confused face turned to Kyle's. "I think we are. Why wouldn't we be?"_

"_Well… no one's really asked anyone out yet…"_

"_I've asked you on two dates, already."_

"_Yeah, but…" Kyle's face flushed with embarrassment as Stan smiled at his confusion. "But, but… We're just two people who have a mutual liking… and stuff. You like me, and I like you. But we've never really… You know…"_

"_Would it help if we made this more official, then?" Stan asked, and before Kyle could blink twice he found Stan kneeling in front of him on the bed. Eyes stared into eyes and hands rested in hand as Stan mimicked a voice quite unlike his own. "Would you, Kyle Broflovski, take me, Stanley Marsh, as being your ever faithful boyfriend?"_

"_Yeah," Kyle said, laughing as Stan stood up from his kneeling position. However, his face thereafter confused him. "What?"_

"_Nothing, dude," said Stan, smiling. "You said we were just two boys who both happened to like each other, but now you've officially let me be your boyfriend."_

"_Oh."_

"_Doesn't make much of a difference, right?" Kyle shook his head as Stan laughed. "It really doesn't matter what we call it between ourselves, dude. All that really matters is that what we're experiencing is real."_

"_As opposed to it being false?"_

_Stan shook his head. "You know… like this being a dream. Even if we were friends I wouldn't mind not being boyfriends if it would still feel this way."_

"_Oh…" The room remained silent for some time after that, the silence being interrupted only once by someone dropping a glass cup downstairs. "Hey, Stan?"_

"_Yeah?"—Mrs. Broflovski's high-pitched shrills filled the air the moment he finished speaking—"What's up?"_

"_If we're in this relationship thingy… does that mean I have to tell you everything now?"_

"_Well, what d'you mean?" Stan asked._

_Kyle turned his gaze to his feet. "Well… like, do I have to confide in you, tell you what happens in my day… that kinda stuff?"_

"_You don't really _have_ to," said Stan, shrugging. "I… _think_ I know what you're talking about. You're pretty much talking about trust and how much you're obligated to share with me, and stuff?"_

"_I think so," Kyle replied, chuckling nervously. "I really don't quite know myself, anymore."_

"_Well…" Stan sighed, remaining silent while allowing the loud conversations of his mother and Ike to pass downstairs. "Really, I don't think that being your boyfriend makes you_ that_ obligated to tell me everything… I mean it'd be nice, sure. But I don't think my life should be yours."_

"_Let's say, hypothetically, that I'm cheating on you," said Kyle as Stan raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I'm not, obviously, because I'd never do something like that to you. But hypothetically… Would that be something I should tell you?"_

"_I dunno," Stan replied, frowning. "…I guess…? I think I'd be more comfortable knowing that you don't love me anymore than me thinking you still do."_

"_Oh." Kyle sighed as they remained in silence once more, though this time without the blessing of Mrs. Broflovski's loud lectures from the floor below._

"_How about you?" Stan asked._

"_Same, I guess." The two sighed, but before they could enter another quiet moment Kyle asked another question. "Still hypothetically speaking… Would you be willing to forgive me if I had cheated on you?"_

_Stan frowned as he searched for an answer. "Would you?"_

"_Would I forgive me?—no, not really."_

"_Would you forgive me if I did that," Stan corrected himself._

"_Oh." It was a rather touchy subject for a pair that had only been going out for three weeks—in Kyle's eyes for barely an hour—and as Stan raised his eyebrows expectantly at his friend Kyle the other boy could only shake his head and shrug. "I think I'd be able to."_

"_Really?"—it hadn't been the answer that Stan had expected, especially since few would. "Why?"_

"_I think, no matter what happens a kind person will always be able to forgive…"_

_Stan smiled nervously at the answer, shaking his head. "I admire you then… I would probably be too downcast to forgive someone…"_

"_Yeah." He stood up to stretch, completely forgetting that Stan had been standing the whole time, and as he stretched he found Stan watching him. Not that he cared, but it was just a bit strange to watch someone like that…_

_Kyle decided to ask and Stan had given a quick answer. "I dunno."_

"_Whatever, dude." He jumped on the spot several times, taking a deep sigh as he walked over to his closet. "Hey, Stan?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I may just seem like I'm spewing random questions today, but… How far in your relationship with Wendy were you when you first kissed her?"_

_Stan laughed. "Not too far in, actually. I think maybe the second or third day."_

"_Oh…"_

_Stan laughed yet again. "Are you complaining that I still haven't given you your first kiss, yet?"_

"_N-No…"_

_Stan laughed once more. "Yeah you are dude!"_

"_No, I'm—!" but Kyle never finished his sentence as he felt an arm wrap around his waist from behind. Before he knew it his skin was dosed with a quite pleasing breath of hot air, and as his eyes fluttered from the contact he felt a pair of lips place a scarring kiss on the back of his neck._

_And then, it was gone._

"_What the hell, dude!" Kyle exclaimed, though it had probably been his hormones reacting. "Why'd you stop?"_

"_You only wanted your first kiss," Stan said cheekily, smiling as he left the room._

_An unhappy Kyle growled as he chased after the raven-haired boy. "Goddamnit, Stan!—that _so_ doesn't count as a kiss!"_

_Kyle ignored the goofy look on Ike's face as they met at the foot of the stairs._

_- - - - - - - - - _

"_You aren't going to leave me by myself again, are you?" Kyle asked as he bent over to tie his skates. _

_Somewhere behind him Stan replied to his question. "I thought you already asked me that, ages back?" _

"_Yeah… Just making sure." A cool breeze blew by as the sun reflected interesting shades against the seemingly white ice. There was probably some physics-related string of reasoning occurring in Kyle's mind as he stared into the light blue horizon, watching the ice his feet would soon step into. Somewhere behind him Stan was putting on his own skates, but the boy had started ages before him and he still was not finished. "Stan, you're staring… again." _

"_What?" followed an exasperated cry; "I am not staring!" _

"_Whatever, dude." Kyle smiled as he tightened his laces a final time, turning around just quickly enough to catch Stan staring open-eyed in his direction. "You've been ready all this time?" _

"_Yeah," replied Stan, blinking once or twice. "I've just been waiting for you." _

"_While staring." _

"_No, dude, not staring." Kyle nodded his head in defeat as Stan came to a halt beside him. "Shall we go?" _

"_Sure." Stan smiled in return as he took Kyle's hand in his own, stepping forward onto the ice. He found himself gripping Kyle's hand tighter at first as he almost lost balance, but it was soon enough when the two were properly on the ice, skating along its perimeter with hands entwined. _

"_If it really bothers you we won't go anywhere near the center," Stan said with a smile. _

"_I don't mind," Kyle replied, squeezing his hand. "I trust your word." Stan nodded, smiling as he pulled Kyle along a pond's corner. They skated for hours and hours, although time didn't exist in their eyes, and throughout their skating experience they talked of things people normally talked of on their third date—and then, even the most atypical of things. Regardless on the peculiarity of their conversational topics, they still had a great time talking, skating, and holding hands—all without the worry of time. _

_Eventually, though, Stan did take time into account, but for completely different reasons. _

"_Why'd you stop?" asked Kyle while frowning, but as Stan continued to stare blankly into the horizon Kyle decided to follow suit. "Stan…?" _

"_The sun's setting," the raven-haired boy muttered softly. _

"_It sets every day," Kyle replied, but a quick hand from Stan and he remained quiet. To Kyle they must've stared at the sky for days, though in reality they had been skating for at least ten times as long. Yet as the sky began turning pinkish Kyle still couldn't seem to figure out what Stan found so interesting. "I don't get it…" _

"_It's struggling…" _

_Kyle sighed. "Stan… you're starting to freak me out." _

"_No, look…" But as Kyle looked to the sunset once more he still didn't see anything exciting. Kyle opened his mouth to ask once more but Stan seemed to be one step ahead of him this time. "The sun's struggling to stay up there…" _

_Kyle really wanted to know where Stan had even thought of such an idea, but as he peered once more it seemed to make much more sense. "Stan…" _

"_The moon wants its turn with the sky, but the sun doesn't want to give in. The sky can't do anything—it's merely being influenced by both. But in the end the sky chooses the moon, and the sun is left to find skies elsewhere…" _

"_A sky the moon will overtake at another time," Kyle added, slowly getting the idea of Stan's philosophy. _

"_But the sun doesn't give up," Stan continued, causing Kyle to raise an eyebrow. "Even in the darkest hour, the sun does its best to stay in the game. And in the end the sun makes a glorious appearance, one worthy to convince the sky once more who it really belongs to." Kyle bit his lip, looking up at the sky as it morphed into a complete disarray of colors. It wouldn't be long now before the sun disappeared completely… _

"_And I thought I thought too much about things," Kyle said with a chuckle. _

_Stan removed himself from his daze as he turned to his boyfriend. "That doesn't mean I don't think at all, though. Wanna skate?" Kyle laughed as he accepted the invitation, and with a kick of his skates the two were at it once more. They skated on that pond for an even longer period of time, not even caring that darkness had surrounded them nor that they'd never stayed out this late in the past. _

_But neither boy seemed to mind. They knew the sun would soon rise. _

_Though not soon enough for Kyle, as it turned out._

"_It's too dark, Stan." _

"_We can go on still, don't worry…" _

"_But I'm tired…" Stan sighed, giving in to the Jewish boy's complaints as they hobbled over to the edge of the pond. With a relieved cry of exasperation Kyle fell to the ground, uncoordinatedly struggling to pick himself up to a more comfortable position. Still, he failed, and as he sank into the ground in defeat Stan flopped onto the space next to him. _

"_That was… fun…" Kyle couldn't reply amongst his strained attempts to catch his breath, but Stan knew he agreed quite strongly with the statement. After all, skating for eight hours without end was indeed a very tiring feat. "Wanna do this again, sometime?" _

"_Not… Not tomorrow," Kyle managed to say, striking a laugh from Stan. _

"'_Course not," Stan said, smiling in the dark. "Maybe as a fourth date, whenever that ends up being." _

"_Not… even," said Kyle. "More like… a twentieth date. I can't put up with that amount of skating, dude." _

"_Be more active," Stan muttered, laughing slightly. "You're physically fit enough to do it, dude. You just need to get out more." _

"_With school and crap, I have no time." Stan sighed, stretching his arms over his head as he let out a groan. _

"_I think you're right," Stan said once he had finished, laughing at having just been proven wrong. "This is tiring… my muscles hurt." _

"_I can't drive for you, dude," Kyle said slowly. "I didn't bring my license with me." _

"_Just gonna have to wait here until I can drive you home, then." _

"_I don't mind," said Kyle, rolling over to his side. Somehow… Somehow Kyle felt as if he could see the orbs of Stan's blue eyes in the dark, even with the absence of sunlight. Of course, it was fairly hard to say if it had really been what he was seeing, especially since everything he had learned in physics went against it. _

_But then, it really must've been Stan, because no ordinary lights would move closer to him—at the same time he heard Stan doing the same thing. "I frankly don't mind either. I'm just afraid of falling asleep when the sun rises, being seen by everyone that comes here. I'm sure having people watch you sleep is a weird feeling to think about." _

"_I'd bet," said Kyle, smiling. "Just stay where you are and relax. I'll wake you up if you fall asleep." _

"_Thanks," said Stan, shutting his eyelids. It wasn't long before Kyle found the boy as silent as a stone, his body rising only slightly every time he breathed. He wasn't asleep yet, Kyle was sure, but he knew it would be soon when he'd have to wake the boy up. He couldn't help but watch Stan, though; the way his stomach rose, the way he barely moved, the way his mouth would open occasionally—all of these actions were fascinating for the Jewish boy to watch, even in the dark. _

"_Just because it is dark… doesn't mean I can't… see you…" Kyle frowned as Stan muttered some other things, though all quite inaudible. _

"_What'd you mean?" _

"_You're staring." _

_Kyle frowned once more, biting his lip. "I am not staring." _

"_You're watching me sleep, dude." _

"_Am not," retorted Kyle, but he knew he hadn't been kidding anyone. "You were staring whiles back, too." _

"_But I was staring because of hormones," said Stan softly. "You're watching me… sleep. It's an entirely different thing." _

"_Whatever, dude." _

"_No, no… there's nothing wrong with it. I just found it funny… that's all." _

"_Yeah, sure," snapped Kyle. "By the way, I think you've had enough rest time. I wanna sleep in a bed, you know. Not on the ground." _

"_Not cool," muttered Stan as he tried picking himself up. He didn't quite succeed though, and as he found himself collapsing to the ground once more he chuckled slightly. "Wanna help me up?" _

"_And you claim I need to be more active…" scoffed Kyle. "Seriously, dude… I would've thought you were Cartman or something, seeing you unable to even sit up." _

"_That's so not cool," said Stan. Perhaps it had been to prove Kyle wrong, or maybe even the fact that he didn't want to be compared to Eric; either way, within the next few seconds Stan managed to find enough energy to sit in an upright position. "See, I'm not—" but he didn't finish his sentence. Having enough energy to sit up was one thing, but having enough energy to maintain upright was an entirely different matter. _

"_Aw—Aw! Stan!" But even as Kyle exclaimed such complaints Stan collapsed and fell on top of the Jewish boy. "Stan, get off me!" _

"_Too tired…" _

"_Can we at least rest in your car?" Kyle suggested. "Besides, the ground's cold and I'm freezing my ass off." _

"_I'll warm it later," Stan said jokingly, though he probably didn't realize in what way that could be taken. _

_Not that Kyle saw that statement that way, of course. "Seriously, dude…!" _

"_Stop complaining." _

"_Stop complaining?" Kyle asked in disbelief. "Stop complaining? Dude! How can I not complain? The ground's fucking cold, the air's fucking cold, and I'm fucking co—" _

"_Stop complaining," Stan repeated, and as a Kyle Broflovski opened his mouth to comment back Stan pushed himself upward to capture the boy's open mouth in a kiss—Kyle's first real kiss with Stan, in fact. Naturally, during the kiss, and even after, Kyle made not one peep about Stan's falling asleep on top of him. _

_Of course, Stan would always have enough energy to kiss his boyfriend again, granted the opportunity. _

_- - - - - - - - - _

"_You know… you could die from drinking too much…" A hesitant Kyle Broflovski bit his lip as he watched his friend pour a glass of wine into his glass. Beside him Kenny and Eric had their own glasses prepared for the toast, each boy excited to consume the alcohol._

"_It's only a glass," reasoned the raven-haired boy, smiling as he raised his glass in Kyle's direction. "You sure you don't want any…?"_

"_No, dude, I don't want any." Stan shrugged as he set the bottle down on top of the wine cabinet. The four boys were alone in Kenny's empty house—trailer—and as the blonde boy's father was a heavy alcoholic a easily-accessible supply of wine hadn't been hard to put their hands on. Kenny had eagerly waited for the day his family would leave the house—even for a minute—and hearing that his family would be gone the entire night made him more than excited to invite his friends over to share the moment together._

"_Kahl's just got sand in his vagina," Eric muttered. "Killin' the party and everythin' else Jews do."_

"_Fuck off, Cartman!" exclaimed Kyle, his fists trembling as he spoke. "Maybe I just don't wanna die when I'm twenty-five!"_

"_I'm sure you're over-exaggerating," said Stan, raising his glass once more. "Toast, anyone?" Two other boys chorused a proclamation as their glasses clashed together, emitting a ringing sound into the air as the glasses separated. The three boys tipped their glasses over as they drained the alcohol, and as they set empty cups down onto the table they wiped the remnants off their lips._

"_It's so bitter," said Stan. "But at the same time the taste's so addicting…"_

"_It's not bittah," snapped Eric._

"_I still don't think you should've drunk it," Kyle muttered under his breath._

"_Aw, come on Kyle…"_

"_That's stuff sickening, dude…"_

"_No it's not."_

"_Anyone up for seconds?" asked Kenny, his voice already seemingly less controlled, and to Kyle's disappointment his other friends agreed to the second helping. He gave a slight cheer as he snatched the bottle, collecting the empty glasses for him to fill._

"_I'm off to do something better," the Jewish boy muttered, pulling on his jacket. "I'll catch you guys later."_

"_Come on, Kyle!" Stan protested, clinging onto the boy's arm. "Just stay here, dude."_

"_No, Stan. I'm bored here, and I don't wanna smell the puke."_

"_Kyle, please?" pleaded Stan, but the Jewish boy would not listen._

"_Now what Kyle needs is a good finger—"_

"_Stop being stupid, Cartman," Kenny muttered, halting him before he could finish his Steve Irwin impersonation. "There's nothing wrong in having even a cup, dude."_

"_But you're having much more than one cup!" exclaimed Kyle, pointing an accusing finger. "You're gonna kill yourselves doing that!"_

"_Kenneh's dad has drank three whole bottles and he's perfectlah fine," Eric pointed out while tapping an impatient foot. "Two glasses ain't gonna hurt, Kahl."_

"_Yeah, that's what you say now," said Kyle, shaking his head. "But by the time you're done with that glass you'll just want another one… and another… and another…"_

"_It won't be like that, I promise," Stan said, slipping an arm around the boy's waist. "Please stay…?"_

"_No."_

"_Stan, let him be," muttered Kenny, pouring his glass with more wine. "If he doesn't wanna drink then don't force him."_

"_Yeah, he's just got sand in his vagina," added Eric, though he had said it before._

"_I just want him to stay with us," Stan muttered, leaning onto the boy. "Please, dude?"_

_Kyle gave a relented sigh. "I hate alcohol… but I suppose I could stay…"_

_- - - - - - - - - _

"_Spiderman 3?" Kyle asked as he and the boy beside him entered his house. In the distance he could hear his mother cooking something, but other than that the house seemed relatively quiet—perfect conditions for watching a movie. In fact, as the two were in their last semester of high school, watching movies at Kyle's house after school had become a daily habit._

"_Simpsons, definitely."_

"_We already watched that."_

"_Come on, Kyle, it was funny!"_

"_No it wasn't. Now Spiderman it is." Stan gave a relented sigh as he gave into Kyle's demands. He suddenly found Kyle walking at a much faster pace than his own, quickly fast-walking to the DVD player to pop in the movie. Stan sighed, giving the boy a final plea for his desired movie, but the Jewish boy would not be swayed. He flopped onto the familiar couch as Kyle joined him minutes afterward, reaching over for the remote._

"_Better pull your shirt all the way down, Kyle."_

"_Better stop looking, Stan. My mom's in the next room."_

"_I know. All the more…"_

"_Kie-yole!" The Jewish boy jumped into his seat, turning his head toward the kitchen surprised as he peered at his mother's frowning face. "Bubee, you came home without greeting your mother?"_

"_Hi, ma."_

"_Hello," she said, turning soon after to Stan. After nodding at him she glanced at her son. "There's mail for you on the table, dear."_

"_Oh? Who's it from?"_

"_Just look at it, you'll find out." Kyle frowned, shooting an awkward and confused glance at the raven-haired boy beside him. Perhaps he had been seeking a second opinion on the matter, but all he had gotten in reply was an equally lost glance._

"_Now or after the movie?"_

"_Now," answered Stan, grabbing the remote. "It'll only take a few seconds to read, right?"_

"_Yeah." Kyle nodded as he stood up, glancing at Stan once before approaching the table. Stan watched the boy from afar—how he slowly approached the table, how he fingered the hem of his shirt, how he had picked up the letter into his fidgeting hands, and how he had dropped it quite suddenly._

"_You okay?" Stan asked him, but Kyle didn't respond. He slowly picked it up once more, inspecting it front and back before shaking his head. "Kyle?"_

_But he left. Stan immediately rose up, brushing past a confused Mrs. Broflovski as he climbed flights of stairs, trying to catch up to his friend. But Kyle had already had a head start, and by the time Stan reached the boy's bedroom he was already situated at the edge of his bed._

"_Are you crying?" Stan asked as he sat down beside the boy; hiccups and hitched breath had been his reply. "Don't cry…"—but Stan got anything but that. He slung his arm around the Jewish boy's shoulders, squeezing the boy occasionally as he hiccupped in the presence of tears. In the red-haired boy's hand was a dampened Kleenex tissue, soaked in salty years and fragile from it dampness; and with his other hand he held firmly the piece of paper, blotched with red ink from stray tears. "Dude, Kyle…."_

"_I'm leaving," the boy said simply, causing Stan to hesitate slightly. "Stan, I'm leaving."_

"_No shit, I think I've figured that much." Stan's wrapped arm trembled slightly but it had remained at that—now would not be the time to show Kyle his dislike for Kyle's acceptance letter to Harvard. "Unless you plan on spending that much money to fly back home on a daily basis, of course you're leaving."_

"_But you…. You don't want me to leave, though…."_

"_Of course I don't," Stan said, smirking at Kyle as he looked at him confusedly. "That doesn't mean I'm not happy for you."_

"_You don't look it."_

"_Neither do you." Stan chuckled as Kyle directed his gaze toward the stained paper and took a deep sigh. "You know, some dream of yours it must've been if you're crying like this."_

"_I really want to go," whined Kyle, tapping his foot against the floor and his fingers against the bed._

"_Then go."_

"_But you—!" Kyle glanced up in exasperation at Stan's statement, even going as far as raising a pointed finger at the raven-haired boy. "You don't want me to go!"_

"_So?" asked Stan. "Do you think it really matters what I think about this?"_

"…_yes?"_

_Stan grumbled under his breath, shaking his head as he let go of Kyle. "If it's really what you want then I'll learn to get over it."_

"_Stan—"_

"_But I mean, I really love you," continued Stan, standing up abruptly; "and I know that you might not love me as much as I've somehow managed to love you. But still, dude. I care enough for you that we'll make this relationship work, even at such a far distance away from each other." Kyle looked at the boy for several minutes, almost as if he was studying his gaze, and as he sighed yet again he shook his head. Stan frowned—in which he only got one in return—and it wasn't long before he found himself inquiring Kyle of his doings._

"_You aren't okay with this," he declared at last, shaking his head all the more. "I can tell you don't like the idea that I'm going to Harvard."_

"_I know," muttered Stan. "I'm afraid that this thing between us will… fall apart… if you move away."_

"_I promise it won't," said Kyle, giving Stan thumbs up. "I won't let it ruin us. I won't be at peace until you can accept my going to Harvard fully. Just give me a try…"_

_Stan sighed, remaining silent for a good amount of time; but when the moment came that he did make a response it was satisfactory enough for both boys: __**"If it's really what you want, I'll learn to get over it."**_

_- - - - - - - - - _

"_Kyle Broflovski!" A Jewish boy with near-crimson hair turned around, smiling broadly. "Come here, Bubee… Oh, my son's growing up so fast!" The boy nodded, taking his mother in an embrace. The boy had just graduated less than three weeks ago, and already he was packing his things, preparing for his big move to the Harvard campus. He was to attend a summer program there, a lead-in to the already seemingly stressful academic life._

"_Yeah, mom… It's called time…"_

"_You'll call me frequently, yes? Oh, it's going to be so hard to make sure my Bubee's safe…"_

"_I'll be fine, Ma," replied Kyle, fitting on a green hat—ushanka to be more technical—onto his head. "Wouldn't it be better if I just emailed you? I think my phone bill would go through the roof if I called you daily… though, it is your phone."_

"_One call a night sounds good," said Mrs. Broflovski. "I still want to hear your voice, dear."_

"_Why?" Kyle asked his mother. Mrs. Broflovski chuckled nervously, sifting a stubby finger through her curly, bunched-up red hair._

"_Is it a bad thing that I'd like to do that?" she asked, taken aback slightly. "Kyle, this may sound weird, but hearing someone's voice is a very pleasing thing for some people."_

"_Yeah, I know," he replied, keeping in mind the face of a very particular person… To not hear his voice again… "Okay, I'll call you every Sunday, to keep you up with my life and stuff."_

"_Now that's my boy," said Mrs. Broflovski. "Now run along inside and say goodbye to your brother." The boy nodded, giving his mother one last hug before stepping inside his house. In his mind Kyle knew he would miss having his family around—even his occasionally bitchy mother—yet he couldn't help but think of the amount of freedom he'd have living alone…_

"_Kyle?" Kyle found himself at the foot of the staircase, and as he looked up he already found his brother staring at him with an empty stare. He tried smiling—Kyle could see it in the way he was pulling the corners of his mouth forcefully upward—but the attempt failed quite miserably. "Kyle… so I guess you're leaving now…?"_

"_Yeah… that time came…" Ike shuddered violently for a small moment, but after quickly recomposing himself he launched himself down the flight of stairs, springing himself into his adopter brother's arms. Kyle remained motionless for a moment, Ike burying his face into his chest; and as tears stained Kyle's orange jacket he patted the younger boy's back lightly. "It'll be okay, Ike… It's not like I'll be gone forever."_

"_But if feels like it!" exclaimed Ike, letting his brother lead him toward a couch. "It'll feel so empty not having someone down the hall! Who'll I turn to when I can't sleep? Who'll let me watch the old Terrance and Phillip reruns late at night on his TV?"_

"_You'll manage somehow… I'll be back often, as often as my wallet will let me… and my frequent flyer miles. Just take care of Ma for me, k?" The boy nodded slowly as he was seated softly on their couch. He still showed signs of crying, but at least the initial reaction was now gone._

"_Thanks… But when you get back we can have lots of time together, right…?" Kyle nodded, towering over his little brother as he heaved a sigh. He glanced at this watch, and the time displayed on his watch gave him approximately an hour before he was scheduled to leave for the airport._

"_I'm gonna go," said Kyle, straightening out his jacket while rubbing Ike's back once more. "I wanna run by Stan's before I leave."_

"_Okay… I'll see you… soon?" Kyle nodded once more, striding over to their door and placing his shoes back on. "And… I take it you don't want me to tell them about… you and Stan…?"_

"_I'll tell them one day," said Kyle. "I think they'd appreciate it if it came out of my mouth in my own words…" Ike nodded, standing up from the couch and walking toward his brother. "I'll see you later then…" And with that he closed the door, leaving a saddened Ike on the other side._

_But there wouldn't be much time to feel sympathy for his little brother, as there was still one particular person he needed to say goodbye to—_that_ person, the one person that had been there with him the entire time, the person who would probably be most affected from his decision to leave._

_The anticipation of their encounter ate the Jewish boy from the inside out, him completely not wanting the final result. Granted there would definitely be yelling at some point, not to mention crying tears, but Kyle knew it had to be done._

_He was most certainly nervous once he arrived at the boy's house, knocking on a door that he knew well. He tapped his foot impatiently, though the doormat was already used to such nervous actions from the boy; and as he hummed a little song to himself a sudden thought flashed through his mind:_

_It might be the last time Kyle would knock upon that door._

_He waited some more, peering behind him to see if Stan's family was at home. Indeed, the familiar vehicles were still parked in front of the house, with Stan's car along the street as always. He knocked on the door once more, ringing the doorbell even, and still he got no response. He turned and leaned against the wall, heaving a sigh as he looked up toward the clouded sky. He knew Stan disliked the idea, but… could he at least answer the door…?_

_As if answering his question the door opened, though it wasn't quite who he had been expecting. Kyle's initial smile was just about ready to greet anyone, though as his face fell upon the person in front of him that smile vanished. "Hey Shelley…"_

"_What'd you want, turd?" Kyle sighed; that had been a name that Shelley liked to call her brother. Over the years Kyle found her using it for all of Stan's friends—especially Kyle, his boyfriend._

"_Can I see Stan?"_

"_He said to not let you in… but I'll pretend I didn't tell you that."_

"_Thanks…" Kyle nodded before entering slowly, relieving the welcome mat of his weight. He peered inside, looking around for Stan; but as he continued to scan his eyes he came up with no results. He's abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door slamming shut behind him, and as Kyle jumped Shelley merely grunted._

"_He's in his room," she snapped, heading off to the kitchen. Kyle muttered his thanks under his breath before making his way up the stairs to Stan's room. He knew this house well; he knew the welcome mat he always found himself tapping his foot on, he knew the creaky step he always stepped over on his way up the stairs—he even knew the bathroom door from being pressed against it so many times. Yet as he walked up those stairs he felt something different. In the one hour—less—that he had it was like he was stepping into new territory, unsure of what the natives—namely, Stan—would think of him once interaction took place._

_Kyle would find out soon enough._

"_Stan?" Kyle called through the door, but he got no immediate response. "Stan, you in there? I only got thirty minutes or so… I want to talk to you…" The hallway remained silent as Kyle tried knocking. It didn't help that he was pressed for time, that any minute now he'd have to give up and find some other way of telling him…_

"_The door's unlocked…" Kyle perked his head at the sound of Stan's voice, hope filling him once more. He opened the door as silently as he could, trying his best not to make noise; but he failed quite miserably in his attempt. He let himself in, closing the door behind him, and as he stared into the space before he caught sight of the backside of a black-haired boy—Stan. Kyle walked around the boy's bed, and as he hovered beside him he placed a hand on Stan's shoulder._

"_Stan…" He still got no response out of him, and even though he was right in front of him—okay, beside—Stan still refused to speak. "Stan, talk to me…? Look at me?"_

"_I thought I asked Shelley not to let you in?" Stan said slowly, pausing after each word for some effect. Kyle paused, remembering his sister's words before letting him in._

"_I don't think she mentioned anything about that." Kyle took a seat next to Stan, extending his arm around the boy shoulders. "You okay, dude? You don't look too good."_

"_Should I be?" Stan breathed, turning away. "I don't know why you want to move so far away…"_

"_You know this has been my dream," Kyle said, tapping his fingers against his knee. "You know I've wanted to go to Harvard for ages now… I would've at least thought you'd be happy for me that day I got my acceptance letter."_

"_I was happy."_

"_You didn't seem like it. You don't seem happy about it now." Stan shuddered for a moment, Kyle feeling it in his outstretched arm; but after several moments Stan shifted his position so that he was now facing in Kyle's general direction, though still in a downward gaze._

"_I'm happy that you're achieving your goal, I really am. It's just… I'm scared I won't ever see you again, that I won't be able to look into those admirable green eyes, that I won't be able to see that warming smile of yours… or maybe I won't be able to hear that sexy voice of yours again, calling my name in the halls." He chuckled slightly at the thought, looking up and into Kyle's eyes._

"_You know I'd never do that to you," Kyle muttered, bringing the boy's body closer to his own. "We'll make this relationship work somehow, I promise. Across the country…"_

"_I don't want this to end," said Stan, now determined to never break eye contact with Kyle. "We'll be so far apart… I'll miss being near you…"_

"_I'll visit," Kyle assured him. "I promise…" The two remained like that for some time, with Kyle's arm awkwardly twisted around Stan, with both boys looking at each other, though twisting their bodies in odd ways. How they got themselves in that position… Kyle didn't know._

"_So you promise I'll see that wonderful smile of yours?"_

"_Yeah."_

"_And those eyes of yours?"_

"_Yeah. Yours aren't that ba—"_

"_How about that voice of yours?" Stan interrupted, suddenly pushing the Jewish boy onto his bed. "Will I ever hear that voice moaning my name again?"_

_Kyle smirked, raising his body a little to feel the boy's warmth once more. "You know I will."_

"_Then let me hear it again… one more time…" Kyle laughed, and as the two boys shifted their positions so they were more properly on Stan's bed Stan's last request had indeed been fulfilled. Yet amongst the shifting, the grasping, the gasping, the moaning, the piles of clothes on the floor, the blankets atop them, the clutching of hair and skin, the thrusting between them and the dirty bed sheets afterward, Kyle would never have thought that one day he'd be unable to keep that promise…._

_- - - - - - - - _

_Mr. Broflovski had volunteered to drive the moving truck all the way to Connecticut, so the task of driving Kyle to the airport had been left with Mrs. Cartman._

_It was horrible timing on the Broflovski family. Mrs. Broflovski had recently injured herself—her back, more specifically—and wasn't capable of driving on the interstate. Stan's car was highly unreliable to take Kyle—and Kenny didn't even own a car. Thus he had reluctantly relied on Eric Cartman, the last of their old foursome group. He disliked the boy greatly, yet as his future in Harvard left called out to him the Jewish boy was really left without much choice._

_The shower he had previously taken was clearly rendered useless after his visit with Stan, hot and sweaty as ever; and he only earned a few snickers from the pudgy boy as his mother's car rolled up at Stan's house. How Eric knew he was at the boy's house and not as his own, Kyle didn't want to find out. There had been a whole fiasco of Eric being a psychic, and even though Kyle knew he clearly was not it still scared him how much that boy knew._

"_What's goin' on, fags?" said Eric from the passenger seat. As Kyle climbed into the car, placing several bags beside him, he felt the sudden urge to correct his sentence; but he instead allowed the grammatical side of his to subside and cool down._

"_Thanks for taking me," Kyle said politely to Eric's mother, and Mrs. Cartman waved her hand carelessly._

"_What's there to thank, dear?" she said. "I'm only doing your father a favor." Kyle turned away at that; he didn't really want to know what favor she referred to. But then… what an unpleasant and disturbing thought… His mother would definitely be unpleased when she found out about this…_

"_Can't believe you're goin'," Eric muttered, looking out his window. With the sound of the engine the car took off, driving from a slow pace to a much more accelerated one. "No one to make fun of… Hey, Jewboy! You're comin' back, right?"_

"_Of course," replied Kyle. "Even if I think you're the fattest fuck in the world I'll definitely come back." Kyle's surprised at Kyle's mother's laidback nature, not even caring that he's said curse words… But maybe it's just her way of saying goodbye, by letting the words slip._

"_That's the Kahl I know," Eric said, chuckling slightly. The car picked up to an even faster speed as they entered the high way. Perhaps one of the disadvantages of living in a quiet mountain town was living miles away from the nearest airport. "Don't worry I'll take care of Stan for you." _

_Kyle immediately hushed the boy, forcing Eric to keep to himself anything the pudgy boy would've said otherwise. Very few people knew about his secret relationship with Stan; they found joy in hiding it, and even now as they were being torn away from each other they didn't want many people knowing. "Cartman, what the hell, dude?"_

"_Sorry, sorry," Eric said apologetically. There was a silence between them coming shortly after and as they began passing signs on the side of the road (AIRPORT: 20 mi, left exit) they knew they were close arriving. "Hey, I forgot to tell you, Kahl. Kenny wanted to wish you goodbye before you left."_

"_Oh?" Kyle asked curiously. "I forgot about him… where was he?"_

"_Poor boy had to work. I warned him! '_Stop being so goddamn poor, Kenny!'_ but I don't think he even bothered listening to me. And look at that, Kenny! You can't even say goodbye to Kahl now!" The grammatical side of Kyle burst forward in Kyle's mind once more, but somehow Kyle pushed down the urge of noting Eric's apostrophe._

"_He's working twelve-hour shifts," Kyle said with a sigh. "I feel kinda bad for him."_

"_Eh, whatever," said Eric. Then, as he glanced over his shoulder quickly—the first time that whole car ride—he added, "Don't you wanna fix that hair of yours?" Kyle nodded, and for the remainder of the trip he combed his hair to the best of his ability. Of course, Kyle had the typical Jew-fro, which didn't comb down quite as easily, and problems quickly arose—though all being solved well before they arrived._

_Mother and son waited from afar as Kyle checked in a single bag, and before long they found themselves ready to split ways. Ahead was the security checkpoint, an area restricted to the two Cartman's—unless they were going on the flight themselves. There wasn't much Kyle could really tell any of them—especially Mrs. Cartman—and any minute now he'd walk away from the last two people he knew and enter a world of strangers._

"_Come visit South Park some time," said Mrs. Cartman, giving the boy a slight hug. "Be good while you're there…"_

"_Yes, _mom_," said Kyle, laughing a bit—of course, not really meaning what he said. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."_

"_All right dear. Eric, dear, let's get going." The corpulent boy rolled his eyes at the sound of his proper name and turned to Kyle._

"_You'd better come back, Jewboy. If I don't hear that damn voice of yours by the time I'm eighty-five I'm gonna put all the Jews in camps and examine every one of them until I've found you, you hear me?"_

"_Thanks… but no thanks…"_

"_Now remember, Kahl," he said, changing the sentence abruptly while keeping a straight face. "Wherever you go, whatever you do, whatever you find in that place… Remember to stay with Christ… dawg."_

_Kyle laughed, turning away. "I can't believe you're still talking like that, dude… Our hall monitor days were so long ago…" Eric nodded, turning away as well._

"_Well, Kahl, I guess this is… goodbye?"_

"_Yeah, looks like it." Kyle shot a glance at the boy, who's trying his best to not look at the Jewish boy. As if it couldn't be helped though… "Hey, Cartman?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Thanks, man. Thanks for being there. Even when I hated you so much I wanted to kill you."_

"_Aye, what else am I there for?" Yet as the two remained silent Eric stepped backward, waving his hands in a cautious manner. "Oh, no, no, no! No you don't! Don't go all sappy on me, Kahl!"_

"_But I mean it, dude. You've made me this ignorant and obnoxious Jew, and without you I'd be a lot different." But the boy laughed as Cartman held his hands over his ears, refusing to hear more._

"_Screw you Kahl, I'm goin' home now…"_

"_Aw, wait!" Eric Cartman turned once more as Kyle placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Take care of Stan for me? Please?"_

"_Fine, whatever dude. Fuckin' fags…" Kyle smiled, turning away toward the security checkpoint. It wouldn't be long now until… "Hey Kahl! I think I should tell you this, but…"_

"_But what?" Kyle asked, turning around to find Eric still standing there, with a smirk plastered upon his face._

"_You've got a hickey goin' on right about… there." Kyle frowned, massaging the left side of his neck, but only growled one last time at the boy as Eric's smile grew wider. "Other side…"_

"_Shut up, fatass," scathed Kyle, but when it came down to it he was quite lighthearted of the matter. With a last wave he turned toward the checkpoint, where he'd forever leave the state of Colorado._

"_May I see your boarding pass, please?" Kyle nodded, presenting a woman the said boarding pass and a photo ID. The woman, who was dressed in a navy blue uniform, glanced between the two items for a couple of moments, and as she nodded Kyle stepped forward. "Second booth to my right."_

"_Place all metal objects, shoes, electronic devices, and other possessions that might cause the metal detector to go off into the bins, please. Be sure to keep your photo ID and boarding pass ready as you pass through." The officer's voice was quite monotone, probably because he had to repeat the same lines constantly, and as Kyle walked barefoot through the metal detector he though of saying some sort of hello to the officer—but on second thought, as he snatched the ID from the Jewish boy, Kyle thought otherwise._

"_Gate A15, to your right," said the grumpy man, and as Kyle nodded his thanks he was quick to reclaim his possessions and leave the area. He had roughly a half hour before boarding time, and as Kyle glanced at his watch to make sure he frowned._

"_I think I have time to snatch a cup of coffee," said Kyle, redirecting himself to a local coffee shop. As he waited in line he began to think of how he'd live life there—would he join any clubs or fraternities?—how many classes would he take? Indeed Kyle was quite excited about being at Harvard… but leaving his family behind…_

"_And what kind of coffee would you like today?" Kyle looked up to find a brunette woman smiling at him, treating him as cheery as her profession forced her to be, and acted as if she had known Kyle for many years—though, that was probably how she treated every customer._

"_Café Latte," Kyle mutter, only barely paying attention. His mind was still in the mindset of leaving home, leaving everything he had grown up with… Stark's Pond, South Park Elementary, Shakey's Pizza—all of it he would be leaving behind._

_He hoped his mother would be fine._

_He grabbed the coffee from the woman's hand once it was ready, and giving his thanks quickly Kyle left for his airport terminal. A15, he reminded himself, and as he gazed at the large signs to his left and right he found himself walking to the very end of the building. He looked around, noticing how full it already was, and as his eyes fell upon an empty seat Kyle set his stuff down and sat down in it._

"_Traveling alone?" asked an old man beside him, and as Kyle turned to him he nodded. The old man was fairly easy to describe, as almost every man his age looked like that—but there was something about him that made him different, perhaps his personality. "What brings you to Massachusetts?"_

"_I'm going to Harvard," said Kyle, almost a bit too excitedly._

"_Ah… You remind me of my son." Kyle frowned, looking away. "My son was accepted into Harvard years ago, back when I was forty-five or so."_

"_Okay…" While not many were accepted into that law school Kyle was still sure that it wasn't a legit reason to remind him of his son…_

"_I take it then you're leaving your family here in Colorado?" Kyle nodded, a bit unsure of the man's intentions. "Make sure you never forget the people who raised you."_

"_Of course I won't," snapped Kyle, taking a sip of his coffee. "Why would anyone do that?"_

"_Ask my son that," the man replied softly. Kyle's scowling face immediately turned into a face of sorrow, and as he turned to the man he saw sadness in the man's face. Suddenly Kyle began having doubts about moving away…_

"_I'm sorry…" Kyle sighed, taking another sip of his coffee. How could someone forget people like that?—especially parents, of all people… "So he never came… home?"_

"_Never heard from him since the day he left, thirty years ago. I waited for him to come back, or for him to at least call, but he never did either of those things. My wife waited as much as I did, but we never heard from him…"_

"_Oh," is all Kyle can say. To completely forget about the people who raised you… Kyle hoped he wouldn't end up being someone like that. "So then what brings you to Massachusetts?"_

"_That same reason," he replied softly, sighing. "My wife's sick… Her greatest wish was to see her son again…"_

"_But if she's sick why are you leaving her?"—but as he continued to watch the man's reactions his intentions became clearer to the Jewish boy. "You mean you're actually going to—?"_

"_Search for my son? Yes, that's what I intend to do."_

"_But Massachusetts is huge!" exclaimed Kyle, catching the attention of some of the people around him—then again, talking to random people at the airport wasn't something people did commonly. In a whisper Kyle continued, "I'm not sure you'll ever find who you're looking for!"_

"_It's what my wife wants, and if there's even a chance I'll do it for her."_

"_It's been thirty years!" Kyle points out. "He won't even look like your son!" But it seemed that whatever Kyle tried saying wouldn't convince the man of his decision—and probably not just because he had already spent money for the ticket. The old man seemed very certain of his decision, no matter how many times Kyle pointed out the potential flaws of his plan._

"_Attention all passengers flying from Denver, Colorado to Cambridge, Massachusetts, with a stopover at Boston," came a voice—some lady speaking into an intercom. "We welcome you to board the aircraft. Please have your boarding passes out for inspecting." Both Kyle and the man found themselves standing up to the call, and as Kyle collected his things he turned to the man and sighed._

"_I hope you find your son…" said Kyle, extending a free hand. The man smiled, gladly reaching his hand out to shake it, and as they grew steps away from leaving Colorado the man turned to Kyle._

"_You too, young sir… I hope you'll be able to find whatever it is you might be looking for later in life."_

_- - - - - - - - - _

"_How long have you been waiting?" Kyle asked as he walked out of the airport alongside his father._

"_I got here with the truck about midday yesterday," said Mr. Broflovski, smiling. "It wasn't too bad though. My flight isn't until tonight, anyway." Kyle nodded, continuing to walk through the parking lot as he carried a wheeled luggage behind him._

"_Rental car?" Kyle asked as they approached an unfamiliar car and Mr. Broflovski nodded._

"_Yep. I'm thinking if you hadn't sold your car neither of us would need to take a flight. Drive the truck and the car, and I just drive the car home."_

"_The gas would be ridiculously high, though," said Kyle as he climbed in. He didn't bother changing the music his dad had already tuned the radio to previously even if he hated such music, but it didn't really matter as they made their way toward his dorm. _

"_I'm pretty such your mother's said this already, but I really will miss you."_

"_You sound like her, too," Kyle added with a smirk._

_- - - - - - - - -_

"_Are you going out again, Matt?" Kyle Broflovski asked as the door to his room opened slightly; "or do I not know you well enough by now?"_

_From the doorway his flustered roommate tapped his feet nervously. "Or something along those lines, yeah…"_

"_I told you before, dude. You don't need to tell me when you're going somewhere. The world won't stop spinning if I find out you're gone without you telling me first."_

"_It's out of respect, I guess," said Matt, sighing nervously as he placed a hand behind his head. "All the other boys are coming with me. You sure you don't wanna come?"_

"_Where to?"_

"_Local bar, as always. I'm sure there'll be a few girls there that'll catch your eye."_

"_No thanks," Kyle replied, turning back to his desk. "I've gotta read this book by tomorrow and I don't think I should be going out."_

"_Give yourself a break, dude!" Matt exclaimed, dropping his hand. "I mean… we're at Harvard and stuff, but you still gotta have a life."_

"_The boys are waiting for you, I'm sure," said Kyle, picking up the seven-hundred-page book. "You should get going."_

"_Yeah… I'll see you tomorrow then?" Kyle nodded without turning, and with a closing of the door he was left to silence. He had gained a lot of time in reading, admittedly, and within the next two hours he read a good three hundred pages without interruption. It'd be another three hours at the least before anyone would come home, which meant he'd be able to knock out the rest of the book before the night was over._

_Of course, he would've finished the book, if it weren't for the interruption that would cost him the night._

"_Who the hell's calling me this late on a weekday?" Kyle asked himself, struggling to pull his cell phone out of his pocket. The words on his caller ID, however, surprised him as he smiled at the sight._

_Stan._

"_Hey Stan!" Kyle greeted, but the response he had gotten hadn't been so pleasant._

"_What the hell's wrong with you?" Kyle frowned, setting his book down as he began walking around the dorm. It was a fairly common habit of many people, to pace around the area while on the phone, and as Kyle did exactly that Stan continued. "You don't call me for four fucking months, and when I take the initiative to call you, you act like nothing's happened."_

"_Well… I dunno. What exactly has happened that's making you so…?"_

"_Pissed? Maybe it's you not calling me for four months, that's what! It's almost as if you don't want to hear me or something."_

"_I do, Stan… I really do… I've just been caught up with school here, and it's tough."_

"_Tough?" Stan repeated, and it was quite clear how angry he was quickly becoming. "I'm in the honors program at Colorado State and I'm pretty sure that's tough. But what's really tough is having a boyfriend that doesn't even call when he promised he'd keep in touch with me."_

"_I've been busy, Stan!" exclaimed Kyle, sighing heavily as he left his room. "I promise I would call you if I had the time."_

"_Even a nut like you should have the time, I'm sure."_

"_I just turned down an offer to go out with the guys, dude! I swear I've been busy."_

"_For four months?" Stan asked disbelievingly. "You couldn't even leave me a short three-letter-word email?"_

"_I've told you…" Kyle muttered softly, staring at the kitchen table. On the counter was a bottle of wine, perhaps a bottle Matt had left out by accident, and he sighed as he made a motion to put it away. "I really haven't had the time. You don't believe me when I say I would've if I had the time?"_

"_No," Stan muttered so quietly Kyle almost missed it entirely. "I don't know what to believe anymore, Kyle."_

"_Stan, I—"_

"_First you promised you'd never leave my side. Then you told me you wouldn't go out of state, even if it had been your ultimate dream. Then you said even if you went you'd always put me before academics. Then you said you'd keep in touch with me so that it wouldn't be so bad on my part…"_

"_Stan…" He paused in the middle of the kitchen, with one hand still grasping the bottle while the other held onto the phone loosely. "Stan, please…"_

"_Do you love me still?" Stan asked finitely and Kyle could only utter a single phrase._

"_Why do you doubt me, Stan… of course I do."_

"_Bullshit." Kyle's breath hitched as he set down the bottle in the cabinet, not moving from his position as he let the full impact of the words set in. "Kyle… I don't think this long-distance relationship can work for me anymore…"_

"_Stan, no…"_

"_I just can't… I can't stand spending each day coming home to listen to my voicemail to see if you've called, I just can't do it. I keep putting my hopes up that you'll finally fulfill one of your promises, but you don't… I can't do this long-distance thing, Kyle."_

"_Stan, I promise if you give me a—"_

"_No." And before Kyle knew it the phone went dead. He stood still for several seconds, even dropping his cell phone as he let it crash onto the cold floor. In not even ten minutes… his relationship with Stan… gone._

_It's quite funny how something good can take forever to build but can disappear in less than a thunderstorm's lightning flash, and Kyle had experienced just that. The silence of the house did not help him, only letting him torture himself with his self-blaming thoughts once more._

"_Where did I go wrong…?" Kyle asked himself though he already knew the answer on the inside. He stared quite intently at the bottle he had just set down, as if trying to stare through the bottle, and he was almost positive that if Matt saw him like this he'd wonder what the hell had happened. Slowly though, after what seemed like hours, Kyle found himself stepping back, carrying out the bottle of wine once more._

_He hated wine, yes, and he knew the consequences of drinking too much, yes; but it didn't come across in his mind as he opened the cork. Screw a glass—he wouldn't need one._

_Kyle knew he'd need more than a whole bottle to get over this._

_- - - - - - - - - - _

"_You sure you're ready for this?" Matt asked as they stood outside the building that would inevitably change their lives. "Graduating, man…. I would've never known."_

_Kyle took a pencil and wrote something fairly quickly, showing it to his friend from college. _Yeah, I'm sure. I can't wait to go back home

"_Me either, man," Matt said. "I mean, seeing all your old friends again…." Matt smiled, walking into the building and waving some sort of goodbye to the Jewish boy. Unknowingly, however, he had set off many triggers in his system._

_He'd be going home._

_He'd be returning to South Park._

_He'd be seeing his old friends._

_He'd be seeing Stan._

_Stanley Marsh.   
He knew he'd have to set things straight eventually… maybe finally talk to Stan like the boy had always wanted him to (despite his current condition), or maybe to finally set things straight, the things that had somehow arisen due to their distance._

_And yet, even as he looked at the setting sun, he knew he missed the boy._

_Later that day, as he stepped onto the stage and accepted his diploma, he closed his eyes and smiled. Outside, he knew the sun had set. Now, laid ahead of him, was the conflict he had yet to resolve, but in his mind he knew it wasn't that big of a deal._

_After all, the sun would always fight back for its once-claimed sky.  
His life thereafter would be marked by the sun's inspiration._

* * *

For really obvious reasons I'm completely out of author's notes. And Review replies, well, you know who you are. I'm quite exhausted from writing this, actually. 

Part One is almost over! Next chapter, after part one's done, I'll explain how the two parts were broken up and such (as I really don't want to ruin it just yet). But seriously, even though this wasn't as great of a chapter as the others, I'd REALLY appreciate your reviews. You have no idea how much inspiration those things give me.

**- Zak -  
**

Oh yeah, by the way! This story's almost beat Faith in reviews, and it's ten chapters less! That's like, super-amazing, guys! I'll add an incentive for the person that gives the record-beating review. In other words, at the moment, review number 277 gets a reward?_  
_


	20. The Beginning of an End

The 277th review reward still applies for this chapter.

Tenses are very, _very_ important in this chapter. Funny, because I just finished a one-shot that I hadn't paid attention to tenses. But seriously, past and present makes a BIG difference in the reading.

* * *

_In the room of white walls and covert windows and doors  
there is a solution hidden beneath the masses.  
A reason why I came here,  
a reason why I need to leave.  
In the midst of the emptiness,  
in the midst of my sanity.  
Everything's too white in here.  
It reminds me of purity.  
Sanity.  
Everything I don't have.  
But who's to blame for the plaguing of my mind?  
Who takes fault for your presence in my dreams?  
In my thoughts?  
Am I to blame for your being behind every desire?  
But as the white converts me into that pure model it so desires  
I begin to wonder the actual outcome of this obsession.  
To conform into someone happy, pure of hatred.  
In the end, will that really save me from my insanity?_

_**Nostalgia: My Past Neverlasting  
**_**Chapter Twenty**

_If it's really what you want I'll learn to get over it_.

Except, I don't think I really will. Not then, not now. The cement's much too cold for me to walk on, the weather much too unwilling to let me pass to where I want to go; yet somehow I find myself persisting. Atop the leaning branches are flocks of crows and other black birds, all croaking a solemn song as I walk by.

I'm sure they all feel what I'm feeling, or they can at least tell I'm feeling this emptiness. Quite frankly I think everything in nature has figured out by now what's happened. Clouds are crying frozen tears, most sane animals have fled, and leaves have crisped and fallen quietly to the aging grass. From my viewpoint I can't tell whom it's favoring—me, or Stan.

"_Don't say that_,_"_ he had said. _"I didn't want to hurt anyone when I made this decision…"_

As if that had been possible, anyway. Associating with an ex-boyfriend only screams for pain, especially one you still wished were with you, at _your_ side, and not his. Stan's logic had been quite flawed, I knew in my mind, but I hadn't been one to point it to him. Instead I had remained silent, nodding my head continuously as I patted him slightly.

Because I had interfered with his affairs for too long now, I remained silent. The tension between us had grown to the point where it was almost impossible to start a conversational topic in fear that it'd enflame to an undesired subject matter. That's how it had been at first, that early morning when Stan had shown up outside my window, clothed in his light blue uniform and equipped with pebbles in hand.

The minute I had arrived by his side he had completely lost all eagerness in talking to me. _"Uh… Kyle, uh…." _I had avoided eye contact with him at all costs that night, much as I'm doing now with the few bystanders that I pass by on the way to my destination. Eyes are indeed a window to a person's soul, and having someone look into the only sane place left is something I want to avoid at all costs. _"Did I wake you up?"_

I had shaken my head. That night had happened to be one of my insomniac nights, one of the nights I hadn't been immersed in that dream that had caused me to wallow in the shelter of my room for weeks. I know now that that dream hadn't become entirely true, which gives me hope for the next time I feel like sleeping.

I look up to the horizon as I wait to cross a street. I can see his house in the distance, but beyond that is a glorious sunrise—or what would be a sunrise if it weren't for the heavy clouds shielding the skies. As the cold droplets poison my cheeks and skin I bite my lip, thinking how lovely it'd feel to have the sun's warmth, especially now that I need it more than ever. But the mere thought of the sun rings bells in the back of my head….

"_Can we walk around?"_ he had asked me, motioning his hand toward the street. I nodded as it'd probably be better for both of us—having a distraction makes awkward conversations easier to bear.

A knock on the door and he answers.

"Kyle?" he asks me concernedly. Not that I can respond to him, but I can tell that he understands what's running through my head by merely staring at me.

I'm indeed a mess, having not slept for quite a long time, and I stagger quietly into his house he guides me to a couch. The couch looks welcoming, and indeed as I fall into it I feel my energy wiped out of me completely. Regardless, the lack of sleep and the entirety of the whole recent ordeal have drained me, and it becomes much too tempting to fall asleep.

"Kyle?"

I close my eyes experimentally, probably in an attempt to see if sleep is worth my time. Granted I really don't know the reasoning behind any of my actions at this point, but the blackness that greets me is so comforting, almost beckoning me to enter a dream world insomniac nights have barred me from.

I feel a strong pair of arms pin me onto the back of the couch, and opening my eyes in reaction opens my world to Kenny's soft, blue eyes. "Kyle, you don't look so good…."

I shake my head rather weakly, my head drooping slightly afterward, almost as if shaking my head really did that much to me.

Kenny sighs. "Go to sleep, dude. It looks like you kinda need it."

I really don't want to, though. My body does, of course, but if I really had the intent of sleeping I would've gone straight home—almost. Granted I probably would've come here anyway for comfort, which was exactly why I was here to begin with.

Yet regardless he leads me to his room, flicking on the light as he shows me to his bed. "I gotta go to work, so just rest up while I'm gone. If you want, when I get back, we can talk more about… whatever it is that's bothering you. Sounds like a deal?

I nod slightly, smiling very weakly, all before falling asleep in the comfort of his bed.

- - - - - - - - - -

_The clouds cried a painful torrent of tears as the two walked down the quiet streets of South Park. Granted it was quite early for anyone to be eavesdropping on their conversation (however one-sided it may be) and that no one would probably even be awake at such an early time, and the fact only gave reason for the two to discuss matters while on the move._

_Somehow, between their conversation at Kyle's house to their walk down an empty South Park, Stan had managed to pull an umbrella for their use, all so that the two wouldn't be drenched in the sky's tears. The wind whistled past them, as if an elegy to accompany the clouds' grief, and as Stan held onto the umbrella all the tighter Kyle found nothing except Stan's jacket to support himself from the occasional strong gusts—it would perhaps be the only time, Kyle knew, he could get away with being in such proximity to the man without him giving him yet another speech._

_Though, as it seemed, it wouldn't be long before he'd receive one. "I'm sorry for waking you up so early," he muttered, his bangs swaying to the side as he turned to Kyle's direction. "I suppose I felt the sudden urge to tell you something, and in a way I guess it's somewhat important…."_

_Kyle shook his head. Not because he didn't want to hear what Stan had to say, but because he hadn't been sleeping to begin with. No surprise it would be to anyone who knew him well that Stan was the exact reason he was suffering from insomnia. _

"_So… you know how I'm dating Craig, right?" asked Stan, being only slightly aware of the effect of his question. No doubt Kyle had known such a thing, as it would always be a reminder of the relationship he had lost…. "Well, some time ago, not too long ago mark you, we were spending some time together…."_

_As typical with every couple within a relationship, Kyle reminded himself, yet it still didn't settle too well in his mind. Granted, of course, that wanting your ex-boyfriend probably did that to you, but even as the awkwardness settled in his stomach he began to notice how Stan was slowly etching around a particular subject…._

"_And I'm not going to deny that we had a really good time together, especially with no one in the house to bother us…." At the mentioning of this Kyle found himself shutting his eyes, allowing himself to be guided by the raven-haired man's movements. Seriously, the Jewish man thought inside his own conscience, how stupid was Stan to bring up such details around someone he knew still liked him?_

_Apparently, though, Stan was in the moment of things, and thus didn't understand the magnitude of his actions._

"_And after things had cooled down Craig and I began talking about some things. Like… really important things that would probably change the future of us both." Immediately Kyle's mind flashed to the day he left South Park, the day he had lost his virginity as a promise to return to Stan, to never lose him… and yet still, he had somehow managed to fall short…._

_The two arrived at Stan's house within moments, and as Kyle stepped through the threshold Stan shook the umbrella dry behind him before following. Granted that Kyle knew his way around the familiar house quite well, yet nevertheless he waited for Stan to lead the way._

_After entering the latter's room Stan handed Kyle a small whiteboard and a dry-erase marker, propping himself on his bed. "Where'd I leave off?"_

_Kyle wrote the answer quickly._

"_So I left off with my discussion with Craig?" Stan clarified, earning a nod from Kyle. _

_But really Kyle was only paying half attention to what Stan was saying; in his mind he was under the suspicion that that very conversation had taken place in this room. The Jewish man had many memories in Stan's bedroom, many of which were slowly being stolen by Craig's presence…._

_Like the picture of the two on the rollercoaster, for instance. It had been, in Kyle's mind, their first kiss, _technically_, and now that was clearly gone from his dresser. But even as Kyle looked over there he saw the new picture that had taken its place. Had it been there the last time he was here?—Kyle doubted, but the standing picture of the two against a tree remained a clear sign Stan had thrown away everything they had had together._

"_Kyle?" The said man shook his head, glancing back over at the raven-haired man. "Kyle, you aren't listening to me at all, huh?"_

_Kyle shook his head. _Sorry

Don't worry about it_, Stan replied. And now, once the two had established sign language as a means of communication, he really did wonder the necessity of the whiteboard…. "So what I was telling you about Craig…."_

What about him?

"_Well… I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything, but…."_

_Kyle didn't even need Stan to finish, though; somehow, Kyle already knew what had happened._

- - - - - - - - - -

I had this dream.

I remember all the details of it quite clearly, though I'm sure most people wouldn't remember their dreams after a few days. It was Sunday, with a darkened sky, and five of us, me included, were spending the afternoon at Shakey's Pizza. Of course, I hadn't really thought about it until after Kenny woke me up, but somehow I had this strange feeling that everything seemed to happen there.

There, or at Stan's house.

I remember Kenny dressed in this polo, orange shirt, but for some reason the Kyle in my dream was slightly attracted to him. Not that I am, really, but I remember lusty feelings running through my mind—either that, or that had merely been a result of association around the perverse man. I remember feeling anything but lust toward the person beside him—Cartman—but what struck me was that I hadn't scowled in his direction like I thought I would.

Though, now that I think about it, even in the real world I hadn't done it. On the contrary, setting aside his ulterior motives, Cartman was actually _helping_ me over the past few years….

Each side of the booth seated two people each, and since I was seated on the pulled-up chair that left Stan and Craig to my right. Their hands were under the table, probably busy somewhere I didn't want to think about, but I remember glancing at Stan the entire time without feeling saddened in the least bit.

But of course, to Craig, I still felt jealousy. But looking at Kenny somehow eased that.

We had eaten quite a lot, but I'm not too sure what the occasion had been. Granted it was Stan's idea, but based on the circumstances of the dream I don't recall there really been an actual _planned_ occasion. There were three large pizza pies on the table, only one of which I recognized the toppings on top. In fact, the other two pizzas had toppings specially requested by Cartman, ordered so frequently by the man that the creation was named specifically after him in the restaurant's menu.

Not that any of that had been important, really. Out of all the random conversations my mind had conjured, there were really only two things that mattered.

One of which had been Cartman's confession.

I felt kinda bad for him, in actuality. In that regard I don't quite remember the specifics, main reason being my mind didn't bother making up the details. Cartman had politely excused both Kenny and himself, and in their moment gone I had listened quietly to Craig's flirty conversations with my ex-boyfriend.

Damned bastard.

When the two returned both revealed solemn expression, which probably meant that Cartman was rejected, and Kenny, guilty.

The other thing important was Stan's proposal.

Stan's face was filled with happiness, though somehow I feel now as if he had been hiding some sort of sadistic smirk. Yet even though thinking about the idea hurts (not to mention having just come back from Stan's house) the Kyle in my dream seemed to have felt no pain from the news in the least bit.

"You know that Craig and I've been dating each other for a year now, right? Well, we've been talking about some things about our future, and…?"

"Stan?" asked Craig, and the remainder of us had laughed at his expression. "What the hell are you talking about? Talked about what?"

"Craig…" began Stan, rising up from his seat and lowering himself to the floor on one knee. "Will you marry me?"

Granted that it was only a dream, but in the dream I had felt really happy for the two. Somehow the dream seemed to conflict with every characteristic I actually held, but I remember applauding the two among the others.

And at that point in the dream is when Kenny manages to wake me up.

"I'm back," he says, smiling at me. I watch him walk to the closet in the room, reaching for a hanger as he hangs his coat. It's only then that I realize I'm still in his house, in his room, on his bed. "Slept well?"

I nod my head, scrambling to pick myself up to a seating position. Granted I'm still quite tired, even with all the hours I've managed to sleep—though, I don't really know how long I've been knocked out of consciousness, as I can't seem to find a clock nearby.

"Hey, uh, about before…. Are you feeling better now?" All I can manage is some sort of shrug; in all honesty I don't really know the answer to that question. Apparently my mind is okay enough to recreate a more accepting version of me in a dream, but I haven't actually had much time to think about my current state. Sure, probably after thinking about it a bit more I won't be okay anymore, but for the moment being….

Kenny makes his way into his closet, and soon after a pair of jeans is kicked out of it.

"Well, if you need to talk I'm always here," he says from inside. "But actually, I kinda need your help right now…." I frown at the thought, biting my lip. Sure, Kenny's helped me with way too many things for his own good, and I know I should probably return the favor—but granted my unstableness is it really a good idea?

Kenny exits his closet with nothing but a pair of boxers on—orange, in color. "I mean, only if you want to…."

Drastically I shake my head, encouraging him to continue. Though, as he smiles at my apparent eagerness, I begin to wonder what kind of things he may actually need help with. Nothing romance-related I'd imagine, especially since Kenny held a bit of a whorish nature.

Yet…. "I need help. I don't want to make the same mistake as he did."

I frown. _He_?

As if he could hear me, he gave a response. "Stan. I don't want to make the same mistake as Stan did."

And then, as he collapses in exhaustion on the bed beside me, as his warmth quickly spreads to the point where I can feel him, as his distinct Kenny-smell (no longer a stinky smell from a lack of running water, thankfully) wafts its way into my nose, as I hear his relented sigh, I realize what exactly he needs help with.

Cartman's told him.

- - - - - - - - - -

_In the room of white walls and covert windows and doors  
there is a solution hidden beneath the masses.  
A reason why I came here,  
a reason why I need to leave.  
In the midst of the emptiness,  
in the midst of my sanity.  
Everything's too white in here.  
It reminds me of purity.  
Sanity.  
Everything I don't have.  
But who's to blame for the plaguing of my mind?  
Who takes fault for your presence in my dreams?  
In my thoughts?  
Am I to blame for your being behind every desire?  
But as the white converts me into that pure model it so desires  
I begin to wonder the actual outcome of this obsession.  
To conform into someone happy, pure of hatred.  
In the end, will that really save me from my insanity?  
Inside I already know the answer.  
But the answer kills me; I don't want to believe it.  
From where I am I can't see the weather  
but already I know whom it favors,  
because as vividly as I can remember it in my mind  
I know for a fact that one solid thing remains  
Even if I find a way to overcome this nostalgic feeling.  
I will never find a way to get over this.  
I say I'll learn to accept the decisions you make,  
but in practice I know that those decisions, I will not.  
Never did on that day, never did as of now  
and in all my nostalgia, never forget, I will._

_**- fin -  
**__(for now)_

AP Exams own me these next two weeks. But after that I'll begin working on chapter 21.  
Or chapter 6 of _The Curious Moves_.  
As with _Faith_, there's an importance to the dream. Though I swear, the dream won't involve predicting a death like the other one, ha.  
And I'm really sorry for the short chapter. It's probably an after effect of having just finished a 23,000 word one.

**Review Replies:  
Barbara  
**_Yeah, it is a little long. But hey, it's stories like those I like writing best. I just tend to write shorter ones half the time because those are read more._  
**Demon.Days  
**_Oh man, your review made my day! And I'm really glad that you've finally decided to review. Sorry for not updating Faith, but I'm really obsessed with my current projects at the moment. But yeah, maybe one day._  
**fluffy**  
_Stan isn't blind..._  
**Azneyes  
**_Well, I'm glad you caught on with the story eventually. Thanks for the review. But I always admire my late readers for being able to read so much just to catch up, ha._  
**Phoenix II**_**  
**No, not really an awsm chapter. Sorry. But I do my best, and chapter 21 may be slightly better in that there won't be anymore flashbacks._  
**Somnium Angel  
**_I don't know if you're still reading, but thanks for the reviews. Though I do wonder, we really should cast a global vote to include more hours in the day. Let's complain to the Earth's rotation around its axis, shall we?_

**And to everyone else, thanks! I really appreciate the reviews!  
- Zak -**


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